


Never Have I Ever

by AllMyShipsAreProblematic, Datmomfriend



Series: Two Truths & A Lie [3]
Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: 1990s, Angst, Appearances by Gravity Falls citizens, Domestic, Emotional Hurt, Fluff, Injury Recovery, M/M, OCs as Plot Devices, Past Ford Pines/Stan Pines, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual, Slow Burn, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 87,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllMyShipsAreProblematic/pseuds/AllMyShipsAreProblematic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Datmomfriend/pseuds/Datmomfriend
Summary: The man was leaning on the doorjamb, his forehead and hip being the two main points of support on the rough wood. He held his left arm close to his body, trying to not let it touch anything. His right hand was keeping the offending limb immobile by gripping it at the elbow. A strange gun was dangling from his fingers. His opposite side leg was crooked up slightly to keep the weight off it, giving him the effect of an exhausted flamingo in studded leather boots. Strangely enough, he seemed to be absolutely covered in a viscous clear ooze that reminded Stan of Karo syrup.Though his face was covered in blood and bruises, in particular a bloody nose tinting the ooze with ropes of pink and one hell of a shiner over his eye that was already swelling and certainly going to go purple, Stan had no trouble recognizing the egotistical smile Rick Sanchez tried to give him in the quickly darkening twilight of the porch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like updates on the newest stories in the "Two Truths & A Lie" series or would like to share them, links are posted on my tumblr. please follow and reblog at Allmyshipsareproblematic.tumblr.com

Time was a relative thing in Gravity Falls, Oregon. To the locals, it was May which meant nice weather with a few rainstorms. In this small town you could wake up to a random time flux that threw the entirety of its citizens twenty years in the past for forty-five minutes but at least there was still the pleasant May weather to enjoy. Or perhaps a time wizard would awaken after from his slumber deep in the dense forests of this land and make the town relive the same day for a whole week. Odd things often happened here. Fortunately, today wasn't anything out of the ordinary compared to any other town. If anything was out of the ordinary the Society of the Blind Eye would take care of that. They were another reason time was so finicky in the small central Oregon town. It was hard to be aware of time when the citizens often had holes in their memories. For some, it was so bad that the fact it was 1995 could be shocking.

Stanley Pines was one of the few residents who hadn't had his mind erased. It had only taken one attack from the Society of the Blind Eye, where Stan had beaten them soundly, for them to decide it would be easier to slander him in the town than to take him head-on. That had backfired also. It was easier to sell tickets to a roadside attraction if you were labeled "The mysterious former scientist who may have gone crazy" rather than a lying grifter who had wandered into town.

As it was, the busy tourist season was about to start and Stan was as busy as he could be. Stocking gift shop shelves and setting up orders from less than reputable suppliers seemed to take up a lot of his time. The kids from the town he hired weren't much use, mostly they were there to deal with the crap Stan didn't want to acknowledge.

He had just reminded the kids to not be late the next day before locking up the gift shop. Stan pulled off his fez and his jacket as he walked into the office. He habitually hung them on the rack by the door before placing the day's earnings into the safe and jotting the amount down in the ledger.

It would be a quiet night. Reheated leftovers from the diner and whatever crap movie Stan could find on tv.

After a quick stop in his room to hang up his shirt, Stan headed downstairs to the kitchen in his undershirt, suspenders and black slacks. He contemplated whether to work on the portal or not that night. He'd taken a nasty shock a few days prior and was thinking about taking one of his "science breaks" as he liked to call them. They were never long periods of time. Maybe only a couple weeks but Stan had found it kept him from burning out and crashing.

Stan entered the kitchen, thinking about changing up some of the exhibits. He had heard wax figures were getting popular again but they were expensive. He'd have to keep an eye out for when he could "acquire" some at a discounted rate.

Just as he leaned down to look into the refrigerator there was a loud banging at the door. Stanley's brow furrowed as he looked at the clock.

"What the hell?" he muttered before closing the door of the refrigerator. "One of the kids probably forgot their walkman or something." He grumbled and walked into the main hallway.

"Alright! Alright! I'm coming!" he bellowed when there was more banging. When he opened the door and stood in stunned, wide-eyed awe.

The man was leaning on the doorjamb, his forehead and hip being the two main points of support on the rough wood. He held his left arm close to his body, trying to not let it touch anything. His right hand was keeping the offending limb immobile by gripping it at the elbow. A strange gun was dangling from his fingers. His opposite side leg was crooked up slightly to keep the weight off it, giving him the effect of an exhausted flamingo in studded leather boots.

He wore something that had once been a t-shirt but the neckband was ripped out and stretched, by design or assault Stan couldn't tell. Over that was a denim jacket, scuffed and ripped with a little more finesse. It was studded with safety pins and buttons and patches for bands Stan has never heard of. A stainless steel cock ring was threaded through a rip in the left lapel. One of those oval workman's name patches was sewn into the left breast. It read "Debbie". More ripped denim encased his legs tightly and he had a red flannel button-down tied around his waist. Strangely enough, he seemed to be absolutely covered in a viscous clear ooze that reminded Stan of Karo syrup.

Though his face was covered in blood and bruises, in particular a bloody nose tinting the ooze with ropes of pink and one hell of a shiner over his eye that was already swelling and certainly going to go purple, Stan had no trouble recognizing the egotistical smile Rick Sanchez tried to give him in the quickly darkening twilight of the porch.

"Hey there, Stud..." He wheezed as if trying to laugh upon seeing Stan's face "What? No kiss?"

"Rick..." Stan breathed as he stood there. He could barely believe his eyes. His first thought was to run over and scoop up the other man but the thought of Rick's face bathed in green light as he sneered at him made him pause. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growled.

Rick's eyes went from left to right as he seemed to check his surroundings dubiously.

"Um... bleeding, mostly..." He said in a tone perhaps too mild for his current state, though his face spoke of deep pain. He swallowed hard and a dollop of blood pinkened slime fell from Rick's chin and hit the porch with an ugly splat. The pair looked at each other a beat.

"Y'know I can't come in unless you invite me..." Rick joked hoarsely.

"What'd you do?" Stan asked incredulously. "Start a bar fight? Piss someone off? I don't want any of your bad shit coming here." he said slowly moving closer. Stan wanted to help Rick but not if it meant losing his home.

Rick squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus his thoughts. He visibly winced at the pain it caused. There was also a healthy dose of frustration in his expression

"It'-it's-I-I- It's not." Rick stuttered seemingly tripping over his thoughts in an attempt to get them out if his mouth. "Nothing's going to follow me here. This valley, it's got- there's a major amount of, I can't say stupidity waves, it's not the same. But its close. Stupid adjacent. It cancels out the traceability of my brain waves. And while this is really thrilling, this weirdness wave symposium, Stan. While I'd love to put on my blazer with- with the leather patches on the elbows and remind you that attendance is a mandatory percentage of your end of semester grade, I'd hoped you'd noticed that my leg is fucking shattered, _so let me in now, Stanford._ "

The last half dozen words were stern and staccato, that of an exasperated parent whose child was repeatedly asking 'why?'.

Stan stood there for another minute, his mouth drawn in a stern line. He really wanted a cigar right now even though he'd quit smoking two years ago. He exhaled out his nose as he walked the last steps to the door. "I know I'm going to regret this." he grumbled. "Put your arm around my shoulder. If your leg is that bad you shouldn't be putting weight on it." he added trying to be as objective and closed off as he could.

Rick very gently placed his dangling arm against his side and used the one holding the weird gun to push himself away from the doorjamb. He hooked that arm over Stan's shoulder with an audible squelch. Stan could feel the slime seeping through his shirt coldly. Rick gave a pained groan of effort as he shifted to lean his weight on Stan.

"Fuckin' Christ..." He hissed lowly to himself. Stan slowly and gently moved them both into the house.

"You musta really fucked up if they worked you over this bad." Stan grumbled. Rick hadn't been heavy ten years ago and he still wasn't heavy today but that slime all over him made it hard to hold on. Stan groaned softly to himself. This was supposed to be a quiet night. The calm before the storm that was the summer rush but no. After all these years this man had to limp back into his life.

Stan moved them towards the table in the tv room. The light was best there and if he was going to have to stitch anything he was going to need it. His eyes weren't what they were twenty years ago.

"Yeah, well, falling out a second floor window will do that to you..." Rick tried to laugh again but this time his whole body seized in pain. "Fuck...fuck, that hurts."

He let himself be led, hopping on his good foot and hanging his head, exposing the beginnings of a bald spot at the crown of his skull. A section of his hair, made thick and tendril-like with ooze, slapped wetly against the side of his neck as he moved.

Stanley was mad. This wasn't fun or funny to him and this man was trying to crack jokes. Stan stopped a foot from the chair.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, Rick." he said dangerously and looking sidelong at Rick. "I was a con man and a drug runner. I know what a guy looks like when he's pissed someone important off and his goons finally get their hands on you. Lie to me again and I'll throw you out the door and call the cops."

"I'm not lying!" Rick lifted his head sharply and barked in Stan's face "I said I fucking fell because fucking fell! Falling out a window is generally what you do when someone pushes you out! Gravity is not just a suggestion, it's the law!"

Stan closed the distance between them and the chair and gently placed rick in it. He looked him over, apraisingly and cataloging each wound, his stare cold and calculating before wordlessly walking out of the room. He returned a moment later with a glass and a bottle of vodka. It was bottom shelf rotgut but it'd get the job done. He placed the glass down hard next to Rick and poured him a couple ounces.

"Your arm is out of the socket and I don't have any painkillers." he said simply. He set the bottle out of the way, and far out of Rick's reach before walking back out of the room.

"Ya think?" Rick called after Stan, raising his voice. He would've been a fool not to recognize the familiar symptoms of a dislocation. His shoulder was visibly sagging and there was probably a divot in his deltoid muscle he could sink a golf ball in. Not to mention the searing pain. Rick threw his portal gun onto the table and lifted the glass. He drained it and thunked it down hard back onto the Formica table top. "It's getting real dry over here all of a sudden!"

After a few minutes, Stan came back with his supplies. A small pile of towels, scissors, a sock, a first aid kit and what looked to Rick like driftwood. He glared at Rick before pouring him another small measure of vodka. "I don't need you drunk right now. Gotta make sure you aren't bleeding internally first. If you're drunk you might do something stupid like try to walk on that leg." Stanley set to work cutting strips of towels.

"Would you need me if I was sober?" Rick asked sarcastically. Judging by the sharp look Stan gave him, Rick knew to quit while he was ahead. He wiped the ooze from his face gingerly, shaking it from his hand onto the floorboards and returned to the vodka, now only sipping it "Jesus, sorry. I use humor to cope with this kinda stuff."

"I know," Stan said quietly. Once he had an adequate pile of towel strips he turned back to rick. "Can you get that jacket off or do I need to cut it?" he asked evenly. Rick looked himself over and gently tried to shrug the coat off his good shoulder. He hissed, tensing all over.

"A little help?" He gasped. Stan huffed an exasperated sigh and gently helped to ease the slime covered jacket. His big hands were surprisingly tender. His thumb brushed over the name tag and his heart thumped as he read the name.

Rick let the coat fall off him, not caring if Stan was holding it or if it would squelch to the floor. His shoulders heaved with the effort and after a moment of this Rick elected to hold his breath. The sleeves of his t-shirt had been cut off long ago and the armholes sagged open below his ribs. Stan could see in the hollow it created the bruised and swelling flesh blooming across the other man's midsection.

"Fuck..." Stan cursed as he dropped the coat on the floor. "You better hope those ribs aren't broken and I'm not gonna even ask if you can get your shirt off." Stan picked up the scissors and snipped it shoulder to shoulder clean through. The material fell away from Rick's torso. He crouched and gently ran his fingers over the bruises. "Hurts to breath in?"

"I liked that shirt... Stole it off a tour bus..." Rick muttered as tried his hardest to not breathe too deeply. He would be lying if he said he wasn't aware of the touch on his skin, both familiar and somehow brand new but the pain was far more persistent than the gentle contact "But yeah. Yeah, a lot."

Stan looked up at him. "Well broken or not, there's nothing I can do for them. Just keep breathing normal." he stood again and poured Rick a decent amount of vodka. "Drink that. I've gotta set your shoulder." he placed the scissors back on the table. "It's gonna hurt like a bitch."

Rick took a deep shaky breath to steady himself. He didn't wince, just clenched his good fist until the pain passed. He bolted the vodka, savoring the warm sting as the first favorable pain he'd felt all day.

"Okay, let's rock and roll." He gurgled then with another one of those sickly smiles on his face added: "Be gentle?"

Stan didn't answer at first. He took Rick's thin arm and bent it at the elbow. One of his big hands cupped the elbow the other handheld Rick's hand. The long fingers lay limply on the space between forefinger and thumb. For just a moment Stan looked at their hands together and felt the sadness in himself.

"I'll try." he said before slowly rotating the arm out and pressing Rick's arm back towards the shoulder. Rick had been expecting the sharp jerk and snap you saw in the movies. He wasn't complaining that his arm wasn't being violently turned into origami but it felt like it would have been easier to swear and sweat through a quick hard crack than endure Stan's soppy puppy dog eyes. He had noticed the looks and touches Stan was trying to keep in check. It made the pit of Rick's stomach clench.

He tried to exhale slowly through the grinding discomfort, a low pitched hum emanating from deep in his chest and through his teeth unbidden. At last, there was an audible thunk and a last jolt of pain so great it made dark spots flash before Rick's eyes. He swayed a bit, afraid he might pass out before pushing through it. Now, much to his surprise, despite the sudden sheen of sweat mixing with the slime, Rick felt a great degree of relief.

As soon as Stan heard the soft thump of the joint popping back in the socket he gently put the arm down and pulled away as if Rick's arm was a dangerous animal. He looked away feeling a bit self-conscious.

"That should feel better." he poured Rick a bit more vodka as a reward then pulled up the other chair in front of Rick. "Lift your leg up here so I can see if it's broken" he instructed. Stan's eyes were downcast and he felt it was easier to communicate with Rick through instructions rather than conversation. He had been forced to quit Rick cold turkey and he wasn't going to let him back under his skin.

Rick gingerly flexed his fingers and felt some pain but not nearly as much as before. The troubling tingling sensations were gone too. He sipped the vodka not enjoying the taste (it was cheap stuff) but not knowing if Stan would give him more and if he'd need it soon. He carefully put his injured leg up on the chair. He barely touched it to the seat, wary of resting it uncomfortably. He worried his bottom lip as his whole body seemed to pulse with pain.

Stan gently lifted Rick's leg with a hand on the back of his calf and sat in the chair so he could get a closer look. He rested Rick's foot on the top of one thigh as he softly pushed up the pant leg. His eyes flicked up to Rick but he looked away just as quickly.

"Tell me where it hurts." Stan ran his hands slowly down the calf feeling the bones as he went being aware of any grinding or popping.

Those words were laced with meaning, whether or not Stan realized. Rick assured himself that the implications were squarely on Stan. Rick didn't stop to get lonely, but Stan was probably alone as someone could get judging by this den out of Better Homes and Gardens of the Manson Family Ranch. He kept that comment to himself knowing not to anger the man holding your potentially broken leg in big meaty hands that looked like they could rip a phone book in half.

He focused on those big hands as they felt there way down Rick's leg. Rick could've told Stan the main source of the pain had been low on his ankle but it had been ten years and by God, Stan was still damn handsome and Rick, ever the opportunist, was not going to discourage his touch. The questing fingers did make their way to Rick's ankle and he was rewarded for his less than honest efforts with a stab of tenderness that made him hiss through his teeth.

"Ah! There! Ding, ding!" He pointed a few times at his boot that felt like it was tightening by the minute. Stan unceremoniously began untying Rick's boot.

"Nothing is broken. Probably a torn ligament, might be a tendon but I'll brace it and you need to keep off it."

He could feel the way Rick was looking at him and it made him hot all over. Slowly he eased the boot off and wasn't surprised to see a battered old sock that probably hadn't seen the inside of a washer in years. Dropping the slimy boot on the floor than peeled the sock off of Rick's foot. He was glad to see that there wasn't any of the viscous goo underneath. He looked up at Rick then and gave him an incredulous look.

"How the hell did you get covered in slime?"

The relief as the cool dry air hit Rick's swollen ankle was exquisite. Rick wore a wry smile as he wiped a bit more of the ooze from his hair.

"Word of advice. If you ever think about getting in a fight with anyone from Molluscara Beta, don't." He said, wrapping his good arm around his middle tightly. Stan reached out and pulled Rick's arm away from his midsection.

"Stop it. You're gonna make it worse. Ribs are tricky. Too much pressure and they could fracture and bust your lung if your ribs aren't broken already." he let go of Rick's wrist and went back to Rick's foot. Rick sneered but complied. It felt better to hold himself but he was in no condition to fight Stan who he knew could be stubborn as a mule but he couldn't help his smart mouth from running away with him just a bit.

"God, I love a forceful man." He tilted his head and crooked his brow mischievously. Stan glared at Rick.

"I don't really care what you love." he said darkly. Grabbing the fresh sock, Stan slipped it over Rick's long toes. "I'm sorry if this hurts." he slowly rolled the sock up over the swollen ankle. He then wrapped the ankle tightly in the remains of one of the towels before bracing the ankle with the driftwood. The towel strips were wrapped around the wood and tied it as tightly as he could. "How does that feel?"

"Like I'm Boris Karloff from the knee down." Rick replied. He was made mildly anxious by Stan's cold demeanor but tried hard to not let it show. Still, his original plan of keeping things light and flirty, acting as if ten years and a bitter parting of ways hadn't happened was not working how he had hoped it would and that mixed with the pain and fatigue was really taking the wind out of his sails.

"Now what?" He asked lamely, looking up at Stan and trying to match the absence of emotion he saw there.

"As much as I don't wanna admit it we gotta get you cleaned up. That goo can't be good for anything." he stood and walked out of the room.

As soon as he was out of sight Stan leaned his back against the wall and took a deep breath. He wanted to kiss Rick. He wanted to go back to those moments in the hotel room where they were naked and eating pizza as they talked but the green swirls of light and the hateful words overshadowed all the good things that had happened between them. He pushed off the wall and went into the bathroom. Once the shower curtain was pulled away Stan plugged the drain and started the water. He tested the water's temperature with his hand before heading back into the tv room.

Rick had pushed himself up, which had been no easy feat and was holding himself up with Stan's chair (he had first tried to use his own chair but it had been too slick with slime to prove as a useful crutch) looking for all the world like some kind of rat who had been all but drowned in a vat of pancake syrup. He held his newly splinted leg out to keep any more of the sludge from dripping onto his clean dressings. He looked down at his tight jeans then back up at Stan and spoke in a way that was torn between biting sarcasm and actual concern.

"Maybe should've taken these off earlier."

"Guess they're getting cut off then." Stan said walking over to rick. He placed the man's arm around his shoulder and his own arm around Rick's waist. He grabbed the scissors with his free hand. "Let's get you in the bathroom before my tub overflows"

Rick did as he was told, leaning perhaps a bit too close to Stan while he hopped along. Once they were in the bathroom, Stan sat Rick on the edge of the tub. Rick felt the steam on his bare back and shoulders and in the hot clean air, he could smell Stan's scent, suddenly remembering the way Stan's skin had smelled and tasted in the shower of the motel room.

Stan knelt and removed Rick's remaining shoe and sock. He then started cutting into the jeans. He wasn't worried about the finesse of cutting off the pants he just wanted this over and done with. He cut all the way up until the shears snipped through the waistband. Stan made quick work of the other leg and cut through the bottom of what was left off the shirt.

Tossing the scraps of shirt aside Stan looked back at Rick. He could see the edges of Rick's briefs through the holes had cut. He swallowed and quickly cut through the fabric at each hip. The scissors were placed out of the way and put one arm around Rick as if he was hugging him.

"Hold on." he said simply while trying not to look at Rick. Rick put his good arm around Stan's neck and held on tight. Stan pulled Rick to his feet and the muck sodden scraps fell away from his body with a heavy slap on the linoleum. Rick was naked in Stan's arms once again and as far as Rick was concerned they were both adults and it was stupid to play coy. Rick looked up into Stan's face, clinging to him. The sight of Stan in glasses when he had first come to the door had distantly unnerved Rick. It made him momentarily wonder if he had gone to the wrong Stanford but he shook it off and now peered through the slightly foggy glass at the man from ten years ago.

"You're still a ten, you know that? Like a California ten." Rick smiled. He felt the broad arm around his waist tighten, whether from tension or arousal Rick didn't know. It hurt and it hurt a lot, but Rick tried to ignore it. He pulled Stan closer, to speak in his ear "and it'd be easier to clean up if you got in this tub with me..."

Stan pulled his face away from Rick's even though his arm had pulled the other man closer. His eyes flicked from Rick's own to the other man's lips and Stan thought of how easy it would be to give in. To slip his clothes off and slide under the water with Rick and press their bodies together was a dream he had had on many long and lonely nights. Stan could still remember the taste of Rick's mouth. Cigarettes and liquor and bitter pills. As he leaned towards the taller man's lips Rick's voice came back to him. " _You let yourself get your heart broken, you let this guy step on your heart like a bug and one little postcard ten. Years. Later. And you go running back just to let him crush you again_."

Stan couldn't breathe and he pulled back.

"I've never been a ten in my life, Rick." he said coldly and evenly. He tried to look unimpressed but his eyes betrayed the hurt he felt. "I'll do it the hard way if it's ok by you. Now let's get this over with."

Rick was visibly taken aback. He looked into Stan's face for a sign that perhaps he was joking but when he saw none he seemed to accept defeat and looked away, his mouth pursed into a hard bloodless line beneath his nose.

He knew Stan wanted this. He also knew he was still hung up about Rick refusing to help him sabotage his own happiness in that basement room. Rick wished Stan could see the bigger picture. That all that was in the past and what was important was the here and now. That the two of them were together again and could cause all the best kinds of mischief. Then again, Stan had a problem letting go of the past, Rick reminded himself.

Slowly, Stan helped Rick lower himself into the tub. Stanley's other hand came up without even thinking and protectively cradled the back of Rick's head to keep it from hitting the other side of the tub. Stan's strong arms slid into the water with ricks torso. Once Rick was mostly in the bath Stan reached over and turned off the taps.

"Keep the splint out of the water." he told Rick as he lifted the uninjured leg water into the water then helped Rick resituate himself. "Use your good arm." he said as he moved Rick to a more comfortable place in the bath. The water splashed and Stan sighed as his whole front was soaked. He stood and walked over to a cabinet by the toilet. He pulled out a washcloth and brought it to Rick. A bar of soap was also offered to the tall man. "Here."

Rick curled his injured arm against his body under the water and let the heat soak into him. It probably wasn't good to keep the swelling down but for as how slimy and repulsive he felt, Rick would allow it.

Rick watched the water soak into the thin material of Stan's wife beater, turning the white fabric all but transparent. It clung to Stan's skin, the broad lines of his torso not rock hard but certainly solid. His chest rose and fell with his breath and Rick found himself staring at the dark disc of Stan's nipple beneath the wet shirt. Rick sunk down until the water was over his nose and prayed Stan didn't notice his semi-hard member under the water line.

He took the soap and washcloth, dunked them both in the water, leaving the washcloth to float and rubbed the bar on his head, dropping it as well and scrubbed the lather into his hair and forehead. Stan peeled back his suspenders and removed his shirt as he walked out of the room.

"Don't drown." he intoned before disappearing. Stan walked upstairs and slipped into his room. Dropping the wet shirt in a corner and moving to his dresser, Stan opened a bottom drawer and pulled out some of Ford's old clothes. He had never had the heart to get rid of any of it. Rick was smaller than Stan. There was no way the tall slim man could fit into his clothes but Ford had always been smaller.

Stan chose some old soft gray sweatpants and a grey sweatshirt that had a small emblem over the heart. "Backupsmore" it read. Stan ran his fingers over the tiny letters. He hated this but he couldn't have Rick waltzing (limping he supposed would be more accurate) around naked for however long he was here.

Picking up his robe, Stan paused. It would probably just get wet and why not piss off Rick by letting him see what he passed up? He smirked and hung the robe back on the hook.

As Stan exited his room he thought of something else. Where would he put Rick once he was cleaned and dressed? Stan tossed the clothes over the railing and then grabbed a set of sheets and a quilt from the linen closet along with a pillow. He went up to the attic and made up the bed there. Then he went back downstairs, grabbing the clothes as he went.

Rick took the washcloth and put it on his head, squeezing out the water and closing his eyes as the soap rinsed down his face. He slung the fabric over his leg and wiped away any remaining mucus, being careful of his splint.

Stan came back into the room and Rick pushed himself up with his elbow. His ribs felt better in a sitting up position anyway. He watched Stan with veiled fascination and frustration. He waited, having no other choice, knowing able bodied Stan was in charge right now.

Stan tried to not to look at Rick but all that wet skin and that smart angular face kept drawing his eyes back in. He walked over to the sink and rested the clothes there. He looked up at his reflection in the mirror and tried to calm himself. As discreetly as possible he rearranged his semi-hard penis in his slacks so it wouldn't be noticeable.

"Ya clean?" he asked without turning and looking at Rick.

"As a whistle." Rick replied, dryly. A more bitter, more salacious part of him wanted to add something about how Stan could blow him, partly as an insult and partly as an invitation, but he bit his tongue. Twice now he had tried the direct approach and twice now he struck out. Rick didn't know how angry Stan was or what a third strike might get him. He had taken enough physical abuse today and while he didn't think Stan had it in him, Rick knew he couldn't breathe dirty bathwater. Said water had been tinged opaque with soap residue and despite (or perhaps because of) the tension in the air, Rick's body was burning with the cold fire of arousal beneath its milky depths.

Grabbing two towels from the cabinet, Stan came around to the side of the tub. He reached into the water and pulled the plug. He then put down one towel to soak up the water on the floor and to keep from slipping and the other he slung over the shower curtain rod. As the water drained it revealed more and more of Rick setting Stan's heart to fluttering. He reached in and wrapped his arms around Rick. "Hold on. Swing your good leg over the edge."

Rick took a moment perhaps to take stock of all his limbs before putting his good arm around Stan's neck and doing as he was told. Stan lifted Rick up to sit on the edge of the tub.

It was a happy surprise to Stan that Rick seemed compliant but at the same time, the softer, forgiving part of Stan nagged at him. He had been rough and short and he genuinely liked Rick as he was. He sighed and looked up at Rick with a gentler expression. "You shouldn't bend too much. It could put more pressure on your ribs. Is it ok if I dry you off?"

That look could have undone Rick. All of this was just so confusing. One moment Stan was glaring daggers at Rick and now it was all tender questions. Rick didn't know where he stood.

"I don't know. Is it?" He asked, not having an attitude but guarding his apprehension fiercely. Stan heaved a sigh.

"I'm trying here, ok?" He looked up at Rick with that exasperated look on his face.

"Me too, goddamn it!" Rick growled. He was not going to be punished for trying to think of Stan's ever so fragile feelings.

"Listen, it was you showed up on my doorstep after ten years covered in slime and lookin' like you got hit by a bus. Believe it or not, this isn't part of my normal life, Rick." Stan ran his fingers through his hair and looked away from Rick, collecting his thoughts. "You got someone you can call? Someone who'll take care of you until you healed up?"

"What was I going to do, Stan? Go into the ER and tell them I got curb stomped by eight foot star slugs? That's beyond weird! And if there's one person I know who knows weird and how to patch up someone on the fly, it's you. You said you were always the job doc back in your con days, didn't you? I know you think I did wrong by you, but it literally took me an arm and a leg to get here, so just quit with the eggshells and cut me some slack!" Rick looked viciously into Stan's face, daring him to speak against him. Everything hurt and it felt like Stan was presenting him with an equation but not all the components to solve it. Stan grabbed the towel and quickly dried off Rick's legs before handing him the towel.

"Of course you don't have anyone." he stood and walked over to where he had left the clothes. "Come to the big dumb guy who you know has too many morals to toss you out. Fine."

He grabbed the clothes and brought them back to Rick. With no preamble, he knelt and gently eased Rick's injured foot down the wide pant leg and out the hole at the bottom. He did the same thing for the other leg. Then pulled them up to Rick's knees.

"Fine." he said again, but this time it was weaker. "Stay. Get better. Then leave. I don't wanna see you again after this. I'll help you but I ain't gonna fight with you anymore, Rick. I ain't got it in me."

"Jesus Christ, who's fighting?" Rick asked. He draped the towel over his head and dried his hair with it. He felt put upon and somehow strangely exposed with the sweatpants half on. He took a handful of the shower curtain and used it to try and pull himself to his feet clumsily. He was sure he looked foolish. Stan saw the shower curtain start to give way and he acted on instinct. He stood up fast and wrapped his arms around Rick as the curtain came free. He made a small "oof" noise as he took the bulk of Rick's weight. They were almost nose to nose and the temptation was overwhelming.

Rick gasped as his ribs protested the sudden handling. He groped for purchase with his good arm, afraid of his leg giving out under him and sending him tumbling to crack his head open on the old tub. His fingers tangled in the gray hair at the nape of Stan's neck. Rick felt the sweat pants fall around his ankles. He looked at Stan out from under his towel hood.

"You keep yelling at me and if we aren't going to fuck, I thought you'd try to start a fight." Stan said in a desperate attempt to keep his lips busy. "I don't know what to do. No one's ever...." Stan's tongue slipped out and wet his lips. "No one's ever come back before. I know how to say goodbye. I've done that my whole life. Don't know why anyone would come back at this point."

Rick waited a beat, unsure of how to respond to such a vulnerable statement.

"I'm just trying to make you understand." Rick told Stan as evenly as he could "I'm in a way right now and I... don't have any other way out of it. You're on the defensive, sure. You don't want to fuck, okay, I get it. I'm just in a lot of pain right now, Stan, so... can we try this again?"

He was close enough to feel Stan's breath on his lips. There was a long tense silence between them.

"Yeah. Ok." Stan said after a moment. He slowly lowered Rick back to sitting on the edge of the tub. He mourned the loss of those long fingers in his hair as Rick pulled away. It had been how Rick had touched him the first time they had danced together at the bar. He knelt down and pulled up the sweat pants again. He put one arm around Rick's waist and lifted him a little so he could pull up the pants the rest of the way. He smiled shyly at Rick.

"I hope you don't still think I'm a serial killer." he said with a little laugh as he paused with the pants just under Rick's ass. He thought it would be easier if Rick got himself comfortable in the clothes than if he tried to do it himself. Rick took the hint and pulled the waistband up around his hips. He chuckled, remembering. He pulled his towel off and rested a hand on Stan's bare shoulder in a way that spoke not of wantonness but of genuine comradary.

"If you were, either the cops around are pretty stupid or you're smarter than I thought to not get caught yet." He said with a kind of rakish smile. A thought passed through him of the smarter version of Stanford he'd met in Lottocron Nine, a version he often referred to as "Vulcan Stanford" in his head. "I can't get away now, Hannibal. I'm hobbled. But you're shit out of luck. My face won't make as pretty a lampshade as it would've ten years ago."

Stan barked a laugh. "Well the cops are stupid here so you got that right but you're dead wrong about that face." he sat Rick down and picked up the sweatshirt where Rick had dropped it. "You may have to get your eyes checked if I'm a ten and you aren't as handsome as you were ten years ago." he opened the shirt and scrunched up the right sleeve until he was holding it open for Rick at the wrist. "Let's get the bad arm in first."

Rick gently lifted his arm, guiding it into the sleeve, then bowed his head for Stan to put it through the neck hole. He helped to pull it on with his good hand over his damp hair and down his chest. The clothes smelled like they had spent the better part of a decade in mothballs; cold and sterile. Unloved. Rick's body ached with the effort of dressing.

"Ah no, I'm the old man here. If anything you aged into your looks. You're what, forty-two, forty-three? Over the hill looks good on you, stan. You've turned silver fox on me." It was flirting but not too strong. It was comfortable and for Rick oddly honest. Stan rolled his eyes.

"You had me at my best, Rick and even then I was just barely a six." he bent forward with the top of his head facing Rick. "Look at all this gray hair. I'm not even fifty yet. I shouldn't be this gray! I probably should have guessed though. Mom went gray early." he tilted his head up and smiled at Rick. "Fat and ugly is still fat and ugly at any age. You're.... timeless."

Rick was puzzled and actually kind of annoyed by that. All he wanted to do was plant a kiss on Stan then slap it off him for being such a sorry lying mess. The smile he returned to Stan was laced with frank cynicism.

"Don't tell me what I like, stud. And it's not a contest. Now, are we going to sit in this bathroom all night or what?" He said.

"Think you can make it up a couple flights of stairs or you want me to carry you?" Stan stood and crossed his arms over his chest. This felt good. It felt natural. He had missed Rick. Too bad he wasn't taking Rick to his bed but he couldn't go through that again.

"Want? I don't think it's a matter of what I want..." Rick looked down at his wrapped and splinted leg and sighed. "So is it gonna be fireman's carry or over-the-threshold style?"

Stan laughed and scooped up Rick in his arms. "Can't do fireman's carry with your ribs. Princess style it is." the stocky man frowned and he gave Rick a little bounce. "Jesus. Do you ever eat? I think you weigh the same as you did in that motel." he walked out the door and started up the stairs.

"That makes one of us." It was not cruel. Rick swayed slightly in Stan's grasp, not feeling in the least embarrassed. The man carrying him had put his tongue on every inch of Rick's body. If Rick was put off by the seemingly emasculating but downright hilarious task of being carried like Scarlett O'Hara in the arms of his shirtless former lover, his skin was far too thin. He caught Stan's scent again, wanting to pull Stan's head closer and bury his nose in that grey hair and breath deep. He had a feeling that that might break their shaky truce so Rick settled for pulling himself closer on the pretense of not falling.

"Yeah, yeah. Pick on the fat kid. You act like I didn't know I've gotten fatter over the years." Stan wasn't mad. It was just how he was. He was a big guy. Always had been, always would be. "So have you just been bumming around the universe?"

"Have I ever. Sometimes it steak and blowjobs, other days well... Other days its pillowcases full of bricks." Rick replied. He casually worked his fingers back into Stan's short cropped hair. Rick had his fingers in Stan's hair again and it made him want to make a noise that was definitely not one he should be making. There was also a bit of jealousy at the thought of Rick giving or receiving blow jobs. Stan was annoyed by his feelings. The pair entered the attic, Rick dipping his head to not hit it on the door frame.

"Well, this is...stark. I expected sleeping in your bed would be a more lived in experience." Rick said trying to hide his displeasure.

"Cause it's not my room. It's the attic. " Stan said simply. "Why did you think I'd have you in my bed?"

Rick looked at stan incredulously.

"You're going to hide me in the attic? Like E.T.?" Rick didn't sound angry but he definitely sounded too gobsmacked to process such an insult.

"There's no place else to put you." Stan said placing Rick on the bed. "You'd rather sleep in the gift shop or how about the gallery? You aren't gonna be comfy sleeping in the chair in the tv room. It's all I got, Rick. Besides, they hid E.T in a closet, not an attic."

Rick looked up at Stan through an unimpressed glower. There was one other place but Stan had made it quite clear he was not in the mood for any welcome back hanky panky. Rick was distantly surprised with himself with the tenacity of his desire for the other man. It seemed even a set of bruised ribs couldn't tamp down his libido.

Rick shuffled up with some difficulty to sit up straight. The bed had no headboard so Rick tried to make due leaning back on the wall behind him. He cradled his arm in his good hand, keeping it Immobilized.

"Ok alright. It's just me and a bag of frozen peas tonight. Fine." He said nodding toward his recently relocated shoulder. Stan smiled. Rick wasn't fighting him and he was happy for it. He sighed as his walls crumbled ever so slightly.

"I'll get you some ice and see what I can dig up to help with the pain. If I can't find any painkillers I might have some bourbon stashed away someplace." he winked at Rick and headed to the door. "You need anything else?"

That little wink melted Rick both above and below his belt.

"Build a better mousetrap, free Cuba and prove O.J. did it? But other than that I can't think of anything." Rick said jovially. There was a pause "...Wild Turkey?"

Laughing at Rick's insane requests, Stan walked to the door. He stopped when he heard the last words. There was a mostly full twelve ounce bottle with a thin layer of dust on it in the back of his liquor cabinet. Stan had had two glasses of it since he had bought it ten years ago. Each time the taste of pepper and oak brought him back to that booth in the bar where he sat and flirted with a man he would know intimately. Each time he would think about dumping the bottle down the drain and each time he would tuck it away in hopes that the man he bought it for would show up on his doorstep.

"Maybe. I'll see what I've got." he said without turning then hurried down to the kitchen.

Stan growled at himself. Why did he wink? Why did he want Rick so bad he could taste it especially after what he'd done and how he'd left. He fought the urge to punch the freezer door in frustration.

Instead, he walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled the bottle of Wild Turkey out from the back. He poured a healthy amount into a clean glass that was sitting next to the sink. After he filled a Ziploc bag with ice and wrapped it in an old kitchen towel.

Heading towards the stairs, Stanley paused and went into the tv room and retrieved a single dose packet of ibuprofen from the first aid kit. He steeled himself as he went back up the stairs. Stan put on a smile as he walked back in.

"You're in luck. This was the last of it." he said, holding the glass of amber liquid aloft triumphantly. Rick smiled back mildly. He took the ice first, resting it on his shoulder. He then took the offered glass. He didn't drink but instead looked at it and frowned.

"One glass? Come on, Stan. You're gonna make me drink alone?" He asked in a velvet tone. Stan hesitated than pulled the packet of pills out of his pocket and offered them to Rick.

"I've got work in the morning and I don't drink as much anymore. I quit smoking too but I can pick you up some cigs in town and set you up on the porch if you still do." he explained evenly. Rick took the packet and ripped it open with his teeth. He chuckled good-naturedly.

"Jeez, when did you become lame?" He asked. He tipped the packet into his mouth and followed it with a sip of bourbon. The dark flavor delighted him like mana from the gods after the lighter fluid vodka.  
Sitting on a dusty old trunk across from Rick, Stan held back for a second.

"Pop died from a stroke a few years back." he said solemnly. "Ma was starting to forget things and Pop dying made it worse, so I went back to New Jersey and helped my brother clean everything out of the old pawn shop and apartment. You could see the stains on the wallpaper. He smoked like a chimney. It scared the shit outta me." Stan huffed a humorless laugh. "You were the one that said 'live fast, die old'. Well, I wasn't gonna be that old if I kept smoking like that." he gave Rick a little half smile.

"You're no fun anymore." Rick continued to rib Stan, but he was amazed at the clarity with which Stan kept bringing up that night. Rick remembered it all but he was a veteran patron of vices and regretter of choices by then. He had figured with all the drugs and drink and just the pure overclocking of Stan's mental state in those thirty-six hours, that part or most of the encounter would have been a blur to Stan. Rick didn't have time to dwell on that though as another word in Stan's story pushed its way to the forefront.

"Your brother? Did you say, 'your brother'?" Rick asked, stunned. Rick's mind hit a four-way intersection where intrigue, confusion, and jealousy all ignored the stop signs in hopes of following the remaining path out of Rick's mouth. Had Stan actually gotten that weird stargate in the basement to work? Moreover, did he manage to find his long lost brother in the infinite cosmos and bring him back to his home dimension? The thought of Mr. Wonderful back in contact with Stan made Rick's palms itch and his already bruised knuckles throb.

Was he up in Jersey as Stan had mentioned? Or was he maybe curled up in Stan's bed waiting for his brother to come join him? Stan said there was no other place to put Rick. That would explain why Stan was so unresponsive to Rick's advances. A sour bomb went off in Rick's stomach and threatened to march up his esophagus and release a toxic mushroom cloud into the room.

Stan blinked a couple times as he tried to read Rick's expression.

"Oh! It's my little brother Shermie not.... Not the other brother." Stan shrugged not really wanting to talk about Ford. "Shermie lives in California. He found mom a good place there. It's been really nice to reconnect with family. I got a nephew." he added brightly.

Rick was relieved and even a little embarrassed at his inner reaction. He was glad he hadn't hauled off and said something stupid. His body sang with unspent adrenaline and Rick urged it to come down. He studied Stan dubiously.

"Family is overrated, Stan." Rick told him, with the tone of the wise sage on the mountain "You should know that. You've been burned before."

"Say it all you want, Rick, but I'm happy to have my family back." Stan smiled and leaned back a bit, relaxing. "I'm going down to see them all this winter. Two months in the California sun for old Stan." he smiled thinking about tans and beaches and women in bikinis.

The thought of Stan being so keen to travel and leave his creepy little shack now left a grain of resentment in Rick's mind. One that could be irritated into a rather large pearl if given the right agitation. The whole of time and space did nothing for this guy but dangle a trip to a place as plastic as about sixty percent of the tits inside the state line, where it was nothing but third wave ska and waiters who were actually actors who were actually porn stars and Stan was chomping at the bit.

"Hm. Sounds nice. Whereabouts in California?" He asked into his glass, more just knowing he had to say something lest he look suspicious.

"Peidmont. It's nice but you'd probably find it boring." he sat up a bit. "I must sound lamer and lamer to you." He laughed "No smoking and I'm excited to go see my family in the suburbs. Didn't plan on getting old and boring."

Stan was right. He did sound lame to Rick. Stan should have been telling Rick how right he had been, how lonely and tedious things were in his grimy tourist trap, and yet he seemed happier than ever. How dare he still be so content with his shitty mediocre little life when he had brushed off the chance that Rick had so graciously offered all those years ago. Rick didn't call him a myopic little rat but he thought it quite loudly. Instead, he elected to drown the insult in his drink. Rick finished it in a long steady draft and only grimaced a bit on the end. He held out his glass to Stan, not looking at him.

"Yeah, well, I should probably get some rest. I'm feeling a bit drained after today." He said in a plain way. Stan was puzzled by Rick's reaction. He had opened himself up for a good teasing and Rick had passed it up.

"Yeah. Sure. Of course." He stood and took the glass from the slim man. Before Stan could pull away Rick took him by the wrist and pulled him down so he could whisper in his ear. He wanted to take his displeasure at Stan's middling undistinguished life and turn it into something different. He wanted to turn it around and plant a seed in Stan's brain as Stan had unknowingly done in his. He wanted Stan to walk down those stairs remembering how it was. How it could be again. A last low blow to end the night on.

He put his lips to the shell of Stan's ear. He did not kiss but let the movement of his words brush his lips on the skin.

"The only reason you let yourself go was cause I wasn't around to keep you in line. If you can't sleep and you want to feel young again, you know where I am, Stud. No pressure. I'm not going anywhere." He hushed. He waited a beat then deliberately let go of Stan's wrist. He did not look away when Stan pulled back. Stan's heart was pounding in his chest. His eyes ran over Rick's face and then he smirked.

"That dom thing might work on some little thing you got on some planet you've been to but I think you forgot." he stood up straight and tilted his head in a cocky way. "I'm the big man, Lover Boy." he chuckled and walked out of the room.

Rick's brow shot straight up in surprise. He was glad Stan didn't look back as he shut the door behind him. That was why he both lusted after and was completely baffled by Stan. The man had such complete confidence when he wasn't thinking about it but if you praised him for it it was all "aw shucks, not fat ugly Stanford".

Rick's mind touched on the Stanford that the dom thing had worked on and felt a pulse of dark, dramatic irony laced joy there but it was short lived. Rick much preferred the Stan that would fight him tooth and nail. Rick closed his eyes leaning his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, pain numbed by cold ice, warm bourbon and hot thoughts.

Stan walked into his bedroom and growled in frustration. He palmed his erection through his pants and moaned: "Fuck..."

He slammed the glass down on his bedside table. Stepping out of his shoes, Stan unzipped his pants and pushed them and his boxers down. He laid back on the bed and wrapped his big hand around his cock.

"Oh God." he tilted his head back and groaned as he stroked himself. He hadn't been this hard in so long. Rick was like an aphrodisiac. He drove him wild and he was right upstairs.

Stan imagined himself walking up the stairs with his erection bobbing in front of him. When he walked through the door Rick would smile lewdly at him and in just a few steps Stan would be tasting the bourbon on those sinful lips. The way Stan would make Rick moan when he wrapped his lips around his cock would be amazing. Running his big hands over that slim body as he sucked, his tongue teasing the underside. Rick's long fingers in his hair as Stan felt the other man's thighs quiver.

Stan arched as his thumb rubbed over his cockhead, spreading the precum that was oozing out. He squeezed himself tighter as he thought of pushing into Rick. The image of Rick riding him while they were both high on stardust in that old motel flashed behind his closed eyelids. The way the lights played off of Rick's pale skin as the universe fell away was hypnotizing.

Rick would feel just as good as he did then if not better. The way Rick would groan into his ear and call him Stud as Stan slowly thrust into him would drive him wild.

More flashes of the time in the motel. The way Rick had fucked him on the bed while Stan was half dressed and Rick pawed him up had been so erotic and sexy. Stan pushed his pants down further and wet two of his fingers in his mouth. He panted as he slid them past his legs once they were wet enough. His breath hitched as he rubbed his fingers against his asshole.

"Ooh God." he moaned before gritting his teeth and pressing in first one finger then the other. "Rick..." he said it plaintively. Begging.

He stroked faster as he fingered himself. He thought of how he'd look into Rick's eyes as the other man got close. How Rick would talk dirty to him and pant and the thin man's body would twist and buck as he got closer and closer. The way Rick growled and huffed and swore was perfect in his mind and Stan felt his cock throb in his hand as he came hard. He bit his lip hard to keep his own noise to a minimum as his cum spilled over his own hand. Stan panted as she looked up at the ceiling of his room.

"...What am I gonna do?" he asked the darkness as he sighed, exhausted.


	2. Part 2

The following few days were quite different from the last time Stan and Rick had been around each other. Rick slept like a rock and woke up well into the afternoon, hearing the chatter of many voices far below him outside. Laughter and shrieks of delight and surprise. On the bedside table beside him was a plate of scrambled eggs, toast with butter, sausages and a mug of black coffee, all cold. The mug read "What IS The Mystery Shack?" in an unsteady dark green font. Beside the plate was a stack of magazines and another packet of ibuprofen. Rick devoured the food and coffee, not caring if it tasted good, just knowing he was starving. He took the medicine and sifted through the magazines. It was mostly fish and wildlife publications and several different issues of something called "Gold Chains For Old Men" magazines. But Rick made due, idly flicking through each one, then tossing them to the floor as he became bored with them. He marked each hour's passing by the gruff timbre of Stan's voice outside giving a speech, about being prepared for the strange and amazing with slight variations each time before his voice would trail off into the ether.

Stan came into the attic that evening in the same outfit Rick had seen him in the night before. This time he had half a dozen long slim cigarettes in his hand. He indifferently explained that he had bummed them off the teenaged girl who worked the cash register and they were Eve brand but if he wanted to smoke Stan would take him down to the porch. Rick, having not had a cigarette in days, tried not to jump to eagerly at the chance.

Stan carried Rick downstairs, deposited Rick onto a moth bitten couch on the porch and, to Rick's dismay, gave him one cigarette. He explained that he didn't have a day off to go into town until Wednesday so this stash would have to last until then. Rick said something about Stan being a tough warden but accepted the lighter Stan offered to him and watched the man depart, saying he was going to go make dinner.

Rick appraised the cigarette with some contempt and lit up. He took a drag and grimaced. Menthol. He hated mentholated cigarettes but he hated not smoking more. He was pretty amazed Stan had even gone to the trouble of finding him some cigarettes what with how painful it was for Rick to breathe deeply. But if Stan had quit smoking himself he knew that a few days without was just asking for a smoker's cough and that would not help Rick's ribs no matter how many ibuprofen he took or ice bags he held to his chest. Rick smoked the thin cigarette down to the pastel flower print filter.

Dinner was quiet and stiff. Stan had given Rick one beer in a glass along with his meal but it was a light beer and much like the cigarette, Rick reasoned weak booze was better than no booze. He didn't thank Stan but drank it anyway.

Stan had decided the best way to deal with Rick and not get sucked in by his own warring desires for the man was to keep things as business like and detached as possible. He said very little, responding with statements that were short as possible. He knew he could get through this if he just kept his head down and didn't think about it. He ate as quickly as possible the deposited Rick back into the attic. Stan had trouble sleeping.

The next morning was much like the one before. Stan brought a plate of eggs, bacon and toast along with a cup of coffee. Perhaps taking the hint made by the magazines strewn on the floor, he also brought up a pile of books that he'd found in the back of a closet tucked under his arm. They were mostly unrelated. There was a book on computer coding and a United States atlas from 1980. There was also, among others, some battered collections of Lovecraft and Jules Verse and something called "The Dragons of Eden" by someone called Carl Sagan which Stan assumed was one Ford's old fantasy novels. Not knowing Rick's tastes, Stan had left all of it for a sleeping Rick before heading down to work.

In the evening, Stan carried Rick down to the porch, where Rick would sit with his legs spread, radiating stoicism and wishing the cigarettes weren't menthols. Rick's own pack of cigarettes must've been completely saturated with mucus in his coat. He wondered what Stan had done with his coat and shoes. And for that matter where his portal gun had gone after he had thrown it on the table in the den. He didn't ask, knowing it would probably send up a red flag for Stan and he'd immediately jump to conclusions of Rick leaving and hurting himself more.

Another quiet stilted dinner followed, with Rick trying not to upset nagging bitchy Stan who seemed very on edge by this whole arrangement and Stan just doing his best to keep Rick at a safe distance from his libido, and they both immediately went to bed even though it was barely dark out They laid in bed, both thinking about the other, confused and annoyed.

It was on the third day of this that things began to change. Rick was smoking his evening cigarette and looking out into the woods, alone with his thoughts. He was stewing on the conversation he and Stan had on his first night in the Mystery Shack. He knew that he and Stan had their own separate lives and Stan owned him nothing. It wasn't like Rick had been chaste since their last encounter, far from it, but the thought of Stan being with someone else set his blood to boiling.

It was the scare that Stan's brother had returned that had set it off. He was a nebulous nonentity in Rick's mind, having no need for any other name than "The Brother", a proper noun without a face. He was like a subatomic quark, existing only in theory but never actually observed. Rick sorely doubted he'd ever meet the man. Stan could never get that portal up and running if he hadn't given up already. But the threat that perhaps he had succeeded, that he had replaced Rick, put a vindictive streak in the man.

He rolled the smoldering filter in his fingers, observing the pale flowers printed there, not surprised by his pettiness but still hating himself for it. Clearly not enough to stop though. Rick knew that recognizing your toxicity and doing something about it was separated by a yawning gap.

That was when Stan sauntered out to the porch. He walked over and sat down beside Rick, telling him dinner would be ready soon. He let his armrest along the backrest of the couch in a nonchalant way. Rick inclined his head slightly, a sign of acknowledgment, as the long thing cigarette sat between his fingers. They sat in silence a while before Stan asked Rick to swing his leg up and let him take a look at it.

Dubiously, Rick put his cigarette back into his mouth and used his good hand to push himself a bit to one side in his seat. He pulled his leg up into Stan's lap and leaned back, resting his back on the couch's armrest. He took a drag on his cigarette and let it dangle from his long fingers.

Stan looked over Rick calmly but inside he was starving for the other man. He began to untie the towel straps holding everything in place. All the parts and pieces were put aside and Stan was very careful removing the sock from Rick's foot.

Stan could still see bruising and some swelling. He ran his hand down Rick's leg under the pretext of checking the muscles. Stan did want to make sure everything was alright but it was a bit of an excuse to get his hands on Rick. Stan had been on the receiving end of sports massage during his boxing days and knew that while it wasn't exactly relaxing it did wonders for injured tendons and pulled muscles.

His big warm hand touched Rick's thin ankle, softly at first, then with more pressure as he gauged Rick's reaction. Rick's skin was soft under his calloused fingers. He longed to strip the man bare and relearn every inch of him. Stan wondered if Rick would gasp and moan the way he had a decade ago.

"If it's too painful, tell me." he said as he pressed his thick fingers into the muscle and slid his fingers down, pulling the muscle down and lifting it slowly. Rick's breath caught in his throat and he bit down on the pale green flowers of the cigarette's filter.

"Does that hurt?" Stan asked, looking at Rick searchingly. Rick was suddenly seized by his intensity.

"No! Well yeah, but...but in a good way." Rick explained. He hadn't realized how cramped and bunched his muscles had been. He felt Stan's thick fingers work across his muscles and the pain was there but very much bearable. He tried to keep his body relaxed.

When Stan had started the massage it had been about getting to put his hands on Rick under some pretext other than needing to touch him. As it went on, however, Stan watched for every noise and flinch Rick made, following the patterns like a trail of bread crumbs to the source of the problem, his arm muscles flexing as he pressed into each knot to break it up. Often he would check in with Rick, genuine concern lacing his voice. Rick always told him to keep going even through a grimace and Stan wanted nothing more than to kiss Rick softly and protect him. The thought of protecting the feral and insanely intelligent Rick Sanchez made Stan chuckle to himself. When Rick asked him what was so funny Stan just shook his head and smiled the first real smile he'd had in days.

"Don't worry about it." he said kindly. He held Rick's foot in his big hand "You think you could handle this everyday for about ten minutes? It'll really help with the healing."

Stan said not to worry about it, but that made Rick want to know even more. If a chuckle that downright sweet was coming out of a thug like Stan something had to be up. He wondered if Stan was enjoying the discomfort he was putting Rick through but then dismissed that, knowing that Rick was not that malicious. Stan was far softer than that; the circumstances of their parting had been partly because of that and it was honestly something in him that Rick pittied. He wasn't sure how someone that tenderhearted had made his living doing the laundry list of crimes Stan had described to him.

Yes, Stan was a certified white knight and one on a high horse at that. He had decided he was too good for Rick even after what Rick assumed was years of sexual isolation. Rick knew Stan had wanted him, had wanted him then and there in that tub but Stan's pride was stronger than his lust. Or at least it had been then.

A terrible thought occurred to Rick. A thought he quickly and carefully tended in his head, persuading to full bloom like a spiny cactus flower. If Stan was going to fuck anyone it would be Rick. Rick would see to that. He would make him so horny he would crawl to Rick begging to be taken back. Stan was not going to come to Rick on his own, this much he knew, not without gentle coaxing but Rick was nothing if not tenacious. He had seduced lifeforms with IQs and resolve beyond basic human understanding. One stubborn recluse grifter in the middle of nowhere would be cake.

"I can handle anything you dish out." Rick's smile was sharp and playful.

When Stan brought Rick into the kitchen for dinner, Rick clung to the other man as discreetly as he could. He was pleasant throughout dinner, keeping up with comfortable conversation. He kept things casual, never laying it on too thick and he was very careful to not say anything too suggestive but occasionally when Stan stood from the table to refill Rick's water glass, Rick would inch his chair that much closer. He would let Stan "accidentally" catch the moments when Rick would devour Stan with his eyes and look away with a practiced subtle smile of a puckish youth who meant no harm. He would occasionally punctuate his word with impulsive touches to Stan's shoulder or forearm but would never linger. His body language was inviting and encouraging without being overdone. The distance implied in between moments of openness held promises of unspoken temptation. When push came to shove, Rick Sanchez had the lion's share of charisma.

Stan was very aware of Rick's flirting. The coy looks and the not so subtle way Rick moved his chair at the dinner table made Stan chuckle. He wondered to himself what had gotten into the other man but Stan didn't want to discourage it. It could have been chalked up to the massage improving Rick's mood but he had to admit he liked the attention and if someone like Rick still wanted him, maybe he wasn't hopeless. Stan snuck his own looks and touched Rick back but it was what Rick did at the end of the night that got under his skin.

When Stan put Rick into the bed, he did not offer himself again but he held onto the open collar of Stan's shirt a moment longer than he should half, leaving a silent invitation with the gentle pull.

The way Rick touched him and looked at him with those "come fuck me" eyes was almost more than he could handle. Stan almost broke and climbed on that bed to fuck Rick brainless. He steeled himself and wished Rick a good night before high tailing it back to his room for another session of masturbatory fantasies starring the man in his attic.

As his alarm clock went off the next morning Stan was already trying to puzzle out how he would handle Rick if he was going to flirt with him. He made the coffee extra strong as he'd been up half the night thinking about what to do. Then it finally hit Stan what to do. If Rick was going to play games, Stan could play too.

Once work was done, Stan started on his regular routine of going to get Rick from the attic but today there was a couple of detours on his way. The man of mystery stopped in the bathroom and fixed his hair and put on his favorite cologne before heading to his room. He opened up the drawer that held Ford's clothes. He grabbed a white button down, a pair of dark brown slacks and a belt. Stan grabbed a pair of his socks and headed up the stairs with a bounce in his step.

He smiled congenially at Rick and explained that he thought Rick could use some fresh clothes. Without prompting, Stan walked over to the bed and began helping Rick undress. His fingers trailing over soft pale skin as he went. He hoped he wasn't too obvious when his thumb brushed over one of Rick's nipples as he moved to help ease the injured arm out of the sweater sleeve. The soft sigh and the way Rick's stomach muscles tightened told Stan he had the man's full attention.

Kneeling on the floor between Rick's legs, Stan smiled up at Rick as he took the splint apart than leaned up to push Rick's upper body back against the mattress while purring "Lay back for me. It'll be easier to get this off." His thick finger's slid beneath the waistband of Rick's sweatpants and he took longer than he needed to slide them down and off. Stan smirked to himself as he saw that Rick was half hard but didn't let his eyes linger too long so as to keep up the pretense that he was just assisting Rick.

Stan slid the slacks up Rick's legs letting his fingers brush ever so slightly over outer thighs and hips before pulling Rick up to a sitting position and slipping the shirt on him. He buttoned each button slowly and leaned in close so Rick could smell his cologne before taking the liberty of tucking the shirt into the pants and slipping the belt through the belt loops as even skinny Ford's clothes were just a bit too big on Rick's waifish frame.

Stan slipped the socks onto Rick's feet, his fingers trailing over every inch of skin he could reach before reassembling the splint. He rested his large hand on Rick's knee and squeezed it gently.

"You ready to go?" he asked as he half smirked at Rick.

If he hadn't spent that whole time thinking about cold fusion and reciting the decimals of pi, Rick feared he would have indeed been ready to go. This fucking guy was either much more naive than he led on or he figured that turn about was fair play. Rick played it cool, saying "Yeah, sure thing." noncommittally. He even threw in half an apathetic shrug but when Stan picked him up, all Rick could smell was the dark blue scent of Stan's cologne and his heart started pounding.

By the time Rick was smoking his foul tasting cigarette on the porch, he was convinced Stan was onto his plan and retaliating. But Stan had made one mistake, as Rick must've done employing the full extent of his charm at dinner the previous night and tipping Stan off. Stan had, as if it had been normal practice for them over the last five days, bent over at the waist and lit Rick's cigarette for him. Another wave of that incredible cologne hit Rick and his skin raised with goosebumps. Rick returned the advance by placing his hand on Stan's own under the pretense of steadying the flame. His long fingers casually passed over Stan's own before resting just at Stan's wrist and feeling his pulse. He looked up through the minute glow of catching paper as he drew in on the smoke.

Stan had retreated then, saying he was going to get dinner ready but Rick hoped his counter attack had hit home. Rick considered his options. Stan really thought he could go toe to toe with him. It was enough to make Rick laugh. But he had hidden his move with Rick under a pretty decent excuse while Rick, in his impatience, had come on a bit too strong and exposed his hand, so there was that. And Rick was sitting out here, dressed for his mystery date in a pair of goddamn chinos that were too short for his legs. It hadn't escaped Rick's notice that Stan had paired them with a belt and, for Rick's comfort sleeping tonight of course, both the belt and pants would have to come off. He wondered if Stan would hide undressing Rick under such niceties. Begrudgingly Rick ticked a tally mark into the mental scoreboard under Stan's name.

Stan had to take a deep breath and think about sports statistics until he could breathe again. Of course, Rick had figured him out but he'd hoped it would take a little longer. He readjusted himself in his trousers as he walked into the kitchen. He really didn't feel like cooking but he was happy to see Rick eating and he needed to feed himself too. He decided on spaghetti and meat sauce. Simple and easy.

Once the sauce was started, Stan composed himself and went back out to the porch. He struck a roguish figure as he leaned his forearm against the doorjamb and crossed one ankle behind the other and his other hand on his hip.

"You ready for your massage?" he asked with a flirty smile.

Rick swallowed as discreetly as he could when he looked up at Stan. Jesus, he looked like Marlon Brando reprising Streetcar Named Desire in that wife beater, posing so rakishly there in that doorway, knowing he was being watched. It made Rick's blood boil. Perhaps it was because he knew Stan was playing the game, and to win it seemed, that was getting Rick so hot and bothered. He kept it together as best he could.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." He said focusing on his cigarette.

Stan smiled wider at Rick's reaction. He could still read the man like a book. He sat down beside Rick. Leaning one elbow on the backrest, he patted his lap with the other hand. The slight widening of Rick's eyes made Stan want to laugh but he held it in.

Rick swung his leg up obediently and the inseam of the too short pants pressed a bit firmly into testicles. A shiver ran up his spine. Rick wanted to blame that on Stan as well but couldn't find an adequate reason. The way Stan ran his warm hand up Rick's calf to rest on his knee as he pushed the pant leg up from the splint was maddening and Rick could swear Stan was undoing the ties of his splint like someone unwrapping a present with the intent of keeping the paper.

Stan's massage started out playful and flirtatious. But after some time he began to concentrate what each muscle did as he manipulated them with his strong fingers. He focused on each knot, Slowly and meticulously working until he felt the muscles loosen. When he was done he smiled at Rick as he fixed the splint.

Rick spent the majority of the massage with his face in his hand, cigarette threaded through his fingers, playing it off as an effort to deal with the discomfort of the massage. In reality, Rick's face was burning and while the massage did hurt some, in this new provocative atmosphere, the act of Stan's touch took on a whole new meaning in Rick's head. He wanted to kiss this guy badly but he wouldn't be swayed. He swore it would be Stan who came to Rick and not the other way around.

Once Stan had the dinner ready he went to get Rick. He held the man close and hummed an old tune as he carried the scientist into the kitchen. Rick could feel the vibration of it purr through Rick's body into his and it was damnedable wonderful.

Stan had put out a beer for both of them. Rick, of course, made a comment and Stan fired back that he quit smoking, not drinking and he felt adventurous tonight. He winked at Rick then put out plates of food for both of them. Stan let Rick catch him making eyes at him and even once made sure Rick saw him teasingly lick sauce off the side of his hand.

Rick finished his beer in three great gulps and wretchedly felt no better for it. He ate, not tasting a bite, but not wanting to be caught staring. To his dismay, Stan seemed to be beating Rick at his own damn game. Rick suddenly understood with much greater clarity Stan's adaptability as a con man. He had recognized what Rick had been doing and was calling his bluff with the utter certainty of a professional. Rick didn't know whether to be impressed or furious.

When dinner was done Stan brought Rick up to his attic room. He hummed and smiled, very happy he had been able to hold his own in Rick's little game. Rick did his best to quickly wish Stan a good night and be rid of him. He was afraid that if Stan looked at him one more time with that bright absorbing smile Rick was going to throw himself at Stan.

The light was barely off and the door barely closed before Rick was fumbling with his pants. The cotton rubbed over his cock as Rick rolled on his side and lifting himself with his good leg. He managed to pull the slacks down around his thighs before giving up and greedily taking himself in his hand. This had been days coming and he was in no mood to wait. Rick stroked himself hard, biting his lip to stifle a satisfied growl. Stupid Stan and his stupid sexy face. How could he truly believe himself to be such an unattractive shlub but the moment it became a matter of proving Rick wrong, without missing a beat, he became a total smoke show? Rick wanted to thrust his cock deep into Stan's mouth and see how easy it would be for Stan to give him that smug little smile then.

Rick twisted his hand over the hot skin imagining how it would feel when Stan came to him and crawled into bed, touching and kissing Rick with near frenzied hunger. He would lavish Rick with needy words of want and praise and beg for Rick to fuck him hard. And Rick would only be too happy to oblige.

Rick pressed his face into the bedsheet, muffling a breathy moan. He toes curled, sending a dull pulse of soreness through his injury. He ignored it.

Stan would feel like heaven and he would buck and arch in Rick's grasp, moaning in that deep voice that had become that much more rough and masculine over the last ten years. He would smell like that dark musky cologne and his lips would be hot and rich with the flavor of Wild Turkey.

Rick panted, mouth hanging open in a stupid expression of ragged ecstasy. He was barreling to the edge at a thousand miles per hour and he had no intention of making it last. His want was too strong to put off any longer than absolutely necessary. Here alone in the dark of the attic, his desire was selfish and forceful and he would not fight it. He would give in here where Stan could not see how he was truly getting the better of him. Rick's whole body spasmed, hips jerking uncontrollably into his hand before everything went blindingly white for a second and he spilled his seed into his hand.

Rick lay there, chest rising and falling rhythmically. He looked placidly at his cum covered hand and reached over to the edge of the bed where the mattress met the wall and wiped himself as clean as he could on the bedsheet there. He felt stupid hiding his jizz stains like they were Aztec gold but Stan had access to his bed, in all but the most interesting of ways, and he'd be damned if Stan found out his tactics were working. With some difficulty, Rick worked the slacks off and laid back in bed. Rick would've killed for a cigarette right now, even one of those nasty mentholated ones. Usually, Rick could nod off minutes after a good jerk but tonight sleep did not find him so easily. It had been an alright orgasm as orgasms went but the fact that he had had it alone had made it wholly unsatisfying.

Stan woke up the next morning an aching ball of need. He had woken up several times between sex dreams of Rick. Nothing he had done had made his erection soften short of touching himself, his hips jerking into his hand as he thought of Rick.

Once he had finally gotten past that he started the new morning routine of bringing the cause of his lustful thoughts some breakfast. Stan nearly dropped the plate when he walked in and saw the pants he had put on Rick the day before crumpled in a heap on the floor. Thank God Rick was still asleep but Stan could still picture a mostly naked Rick under those blankets. He left the food and hurried downstairs. Starting the day horny as hell would not help him.

The day followed in near exact pattern to the ones before. Stan avoided Rick in the morning and they both busied themselves, Stan with his tours and Rick with the stack of books left in his room. Rick discovered that the copy of The Fellowship of the Ring in amongst the books had several pages ripped out. Rick spent the better half of the afternoon using context clues from preceding pages and his admittedly limited knowledge of the Lord of the Rings story to find a common thread. He eventually put together that each of the ripped out pages had to do with The Eye of Sauron. Rick tossed it aside, not knowing why someone would do such a thing and that it unreadable in its current state but grateful for the temporary puzzle it had provided.

The two finally laid eyes on each other in the late afternoon when Stan came into the attic to retrieve Rick for his evening cigarette. Rick was sitting up in bed, his back on the wall behind him. He hadn't bothered to put his slacks on and had pushed the quilt back. His pillow was in his lap and he leaned one elbow into it. It effectively censored him in a way the too short button down couldn't have done. Rick still swam in Ford's old shirt though and its loose folds paired with Rick's wild unbrushed hair made him cut a figure that reminded Stan of Ebenezer Scrooge in his nightgown waiting for the Christmas ghosts to come.

Rick had undone the cuff buttons and left them dangling open halfway up his forearms. Stan swore he had also undone the top three buttons of his shirt, exposing a slice of his pale breast bone. Rick was thumbing through a well loved paperback edition of "At The Mountains of Madness" and he didn't immediately look up when he heard the door open. It was when he knew Stan was fully in the room did he lift his head, smiling slightly through calm eyes in a rehearsed urbane way. He crooked his good leg and rested his arm on his knee, the book suspended gently in his hand.

Stan swallowed audibly. Rick looked like something out of one of his dreams. Rougish and wild. He wanted to toss the book and the pillow aside and climb between those long legs. He steeled himself and reminded himself that he was playing to win. Leaning against the door frame he smiled.

"No pants today?" he laughed softly. Rick shrugged passively and tossed the book aside. He rested his chin on his closed hand as he spoke easily.

"The belt was biting into my hips when I was trying to sleep last night and I very well couldn't get out of bed to get them this morning. Not after the time I had getting them off." He said. He hoped Stan was thinking about his hips and what could be biting them next.

There was nothing more Stan wanted than to dig his fingers into those sharp hips but he kept his cool. He confidently walked into the room. He had shaved, brushed his hair and freshened his cologne before coming up. He scooped up the pants off the floor.

"Well you're gonna have to put these on if ya wanna smoke. I may live in the woods but people still go by. They'll start talking if I have a half naked man on my porch." he chuckled. Rick wanted his daily smoke but he figured that routine would make Stan comfortable. That was the last thing he wanted. He scratched his chin reflectively.

"Honestly, I'm a little sick of those menthols. Tastes like a peppermint patty drug through a campfire." He told Stan. "But I've been sweating up in this stuffy attic for days and you know what? A bath would absolutely hit the spot right now."

Rick undid another button and flapped the hem of the shirt to waft a bit of cool air against his skin for emphasis on just how warm it truly was in the room. Stan felt a little bad. He's been so busy with their strange game and work he had forgotten to do simple things for Rick.

"Rick, man I'm sorry. I should have thought of that." Stan was momentarily distracted by Rick's little display but his sense of duty and guilt overwhelmed it. "Let me get the bath water started."

"Thanks, Stud." Rick called after Stan warmly. He watched Stan leave the room and indulged himself in a truly shit eating grin. The white knight had galloped off on a crusade again and Rick had barely had to say boo to get him going. Stan was more off his guard tonight it seemed. Rick shuffled himself to sit at the edge of the bed. He pulled the tails of his shirt over himself, not wanting to come on too strong. That, in turn, opened the unbuttoned hem that much more, exposing part of Rick's collar bone. Rick decided that was just fine. He tried pulling the shirt completely off his shoulder, but after a moment he pulled it back up, shaking his head and dismissing it as too much. He quickly tried to smooth down his hair and look his most unintentionally devastating.

Stan smirked to himself. Rick thought all of this was just Stan playing into his hands but Stan knew what was going on. It had finally come to Mr. Mystery what he could do that all of Rick's other lovers hadn't been able to give him. Romance. Stan could be very romantic and sensual if he wanted. He set up the bathroom so everything would be within reach. Once everything was set up he went back upstairs. He pushed back a blush as he saw Rick sitting on the edge of the bed. "Ready to go?"

Rick held out his hand as an invitation for Rick to help him to his feet. He had a pleasant look in his eyes that said he knew the most precious little garden and wouldn't Stan like to go with him to taste the apples that grew there.

"Lead on." He said simply. Stan smirked but tried to hide it with a genuine smile. He sat beside Rick and rested his hand on Rick's knee.

"Let's take off the splint. I think you'll be ok for a little while without it as long as you don't put too much weight on it."

Rick looked down at Stan's hand a moment then back up with Stan. He blinked a few times. He then waved his hand in a sign of admission, brow lifting in friendly bemusement. The big hands slid down Rick's leg and Stan kneeled in front of him to take the splint off, humming softly to himself as he worked, taking his time and touching all he could. Rick carefully rested his hand on Stan's shoulder as he worked the splint open. He felt the warmth of his skin and could smell that spicy cologne. Once all the pieces were disassembled and placed beside Rick, Stan stood (Rick quickly moved his eyes away, making it seem as if he hadn't been interested.) and scooped the other man up in his arms. Stan lifted him, unbothered by his weight and Rick slipped his arm around Stan's shoulder in its customary place. This time though he brought his other hand up and laced his fingers, encircling Stan's shoulder loosely.

"Here we go." he said with a wink. As he descended the stairs to the first floor Stan puffed up a bit. He had timed it perfectly to get there just as Eric Clapton began to sing "We're All The Way" on Stan's record player. It wasn't until he heard the music did Rick think this particular round would be a challenge. What the hell did Stan think he was playing at?

Stan brought Rick into the bathroom. He let Rick cling to him, secretly enjoying how it felt. Once he got into the bathroom he placed Rick on the edge of the tub and began unbuttoning the top. He acted nonchalant as he slid his fingers under the material and slowly slid it down those thin arms but inside he was burning with need. He tossed the shirt on the floor. The steam in the air curled up Rick's back and felt heavenly on his sensitive skin. When Stan looked up this time Rick did not look away, maintaining eye contact that was not lewd but certainly profound. Stan picked Rick up and slowly lowering him into the water.

"Tell me if it's too hot." The way Stan placed Rick into the bath, arms submerging up to the elbows with all the care of a minister lowering one of his parishioners into a baptismal fountain, was a surprisingly heady experience. Rick leaned his head back into the water, soaking his hair and humming his pleasure at the semi weightlessness of the bath.

"Mmm, no. Water's fine..." He sighed closing his eyes. Stan was a bit surprised. Had Rick stopped playing the game? Had he won? Either way, he liked caring for Rick. Stanley liked touching the other man. So why stop here?

Stan pulled up the small stool he usually kept in the stock room and unceremoniously poured a small amount of shampoo into one of his palms. His other hand gently touched Rick's shoulder. "Can ya sit up a bit?"

Rick's eyes came open at the touch. He looked at Stan and realized what he was intending to do. He had figured giving Stan a second chance at an earlier opportunity might have been too much for Stan to pass up after the last few days of flirting and if that itself hadn't broken Stan, it would've at least sent the man scampering off to collect himself and Rick would've had the duration of the bath to plan his move. Call Stan in and perhaps "slip" on his bad leg getting out of the tub. And if he happened to fall into Stan's strong embrace, how could that be helped?

And yet, Stan was still here and it didn't seem like he was going to leave. Rick regrouped. He put his right arm over his head, gripping the edge of the tub and stretched, his aching muscles genuinely enjoying the hot water. The curve of the right side of his ribcage breached the water's surface. His hip surfaced, leading the eye down Rick's thigh and knee, an archipelago adding to the chain of islands bobbing in a misty sea. As he rolled his body the flat of his stomach bobbed above the water line, water catching in the dip of his navel a moment. Rick groaned appreciatively. He finally sat up, water running down his back and over his face. Steam rose from his shoulders. He peeked at Stan through a wet lock of hair.

Ok. Rick was still in the game, Stan thought as he tried to focus on his composure. He reached out and pushed the hair away from Rick's face and contemplated the light beard growing there.

"I was gonna wash your hair for you but you seem to be moving around alright by yourself if you wanna do it." he let Rick decide. He gave him the power cause he knew that's what Rick would want. Platitudes and admiration never worked on the other man. Stan pulled his hand away from Rick's face.

Rick cursed inwardly. Stan was a hard nut to crack when he wanted to be. Rick vowed not to be beaten at his own game.

"I mean, I'd hate to reach behind my head and fuck up my shoulder any more than it is" Rick conceded. He shifted his body to face away from Stan, injured leg stretched out and the other tucked under him. He said nothing else as if that explained the matter. He massaged one shoulder lightly, working it in the socket and making the lean muscles undulate under his pale flesh.

Stan devoured Rick with his eyes. It was getting harder to keep his composure. He was ready to climb fully clothed into the tub and kiss Rick hard as his clothes soaked up the bath water. His hands shook slightly as he slid them into Rick's wet hair. This felt more intimate than he had thought it would. A little part of his heart ached beyond lust, feeling himself become a little more attached than he wanted to be.

Stan's thick fingers massaged Rick's scalp and he felt the suds slide between them. The little part of his heart that would always belong to Rick warmed contentedly and Stan allowed himself a little secret smile. Rick all but purred under Stan's touch. There was something just so satisfying about someone's fingers on your scalp, he mused. Someone touching a decidedly nonsexual part of the anatomy had no business feeling as good as it did. Rick could feel the touch all the way down into his leg. Stan's hands went lower, massaging the soap into the apex of his scalp. The suds dripped thickly down the back of his neck and Rick did not bother to hold back the sigh and murmur of satisfaction that welled up in him. Rick was a wonder to Stanley when he was happy. The man that could be a flaming ball of anger turned to a house cat with a few kind words and a gentle touch.

"Tilt your head back and close your eyes?" Stan husked softly. Rick leaned his head back, letting Stan's big hands support his skull, and looked at Stan upside-down.

"Why would I do that? I like the view." He replied smoothly. His smile was impish. Stan was almost undone in that moment. His heart felt full and it pounded in his chest, his breath catching at that smile in Rick's eyes.

"While I don't wanna deprive you of the scenery, I don't wanna get soap in your eyes." he smiled down at Rick. "Now close em."

Rick chuckled deep in his throat then did as he was told, a placid smile on his lips. He was making a comeback in this round and there was a very good chance that it would be set game match in his favor before the night was out, he could feel it.

"Yes, sir. Whatever you say, Stud." He said agreeably. He let Stan guide him back to laying position in the tub. One big hand cupped water and slowly poured it over Rick's hair. Stan's hand that was holding Rick's head continued to massage gently. He studied Rick's face and the way his hair moved in the water. He was still so handsome. Once he was done Stan gently touched Rick's shoulder to get his attention.

"All set. You wanna stay in for a bit or get out? I can give you a shave if you want. Starting to look a bit scruffy there, Debbie." Stan crossed his arms on the lip of the tub and rested his head on them as he looked down at Rick.

Rick flicked his eyes up to Stan. The water sang as Rick's hand came through it and he rubbed his jaw, appraising the week old stubble there. He could shave his own face easily and this was probably another setup but now Rick was enjoying himself too much to pass up such an offer.

"Yeah, that sounds pretty damn good." He said.

"Glad you like the sound of it." Stan chuckled. He grabbed a towel and came around the tub. After throwing the towel over his shoulder he pulled the stopper and reached into the bath to lift Rick out. The water soaked his shirt just as it had the first night. Once Stan had Rick seated on the closed toilet lid and wrapped in a towel Stan stood back and looked down disappointed at his soaked tank top.

"Well, I guess I could have thought that through better." he shrugged and grabbed Rick a comb. He presented it to the other man then went to get things ready for the shave. Rick ran the comb through his hair, slicking it back against his skull. He noted the dark press of chest hair now visible through Stan's sodden undershirt and smiled lewdly to himself. God, if that man wasn't a sexy beast. One way or another, Rick was certain this was little contest of wills was going to end tonight. He had to have Stan again. It felt as if the only alternative would be sudden and painful death, Rick's need was so strong. Rick held the side of the toilet seat between his legs to unobtrusively cover his stirring member.

Disposable razors had never been able to hold up to Stan's thick facial hair but during his semi-pro days he had seen another boxer using a safety razor and he'd been hooked ever since. Not only did it work better Stan really liked the old school look of it. Once he had water in the sink, Stan dispensed some shaving cream into his hand and stepped in front of Rick.

"Look up at me."

Rick tilted his head up, putting his chin forward. He stared directly into Stan's eyes with purpose. He spoke with only his eyes the bold wants he knew Stan had been fighting to not act on since Rick's arrival at the Mystery Shack. The impish smile was back.

Stan smoothed the shaving cream over Rick's stubble. He looked back into Rick's eyes, no emotions hidden. He wanted Rick but he also cared for him and, like he had thought the last time they were together, he wondered how long he could keep him. His plan had backfired. Stan remembered the good times and the way Rick made him feel and it all made him want this man more.

Stan wiped off the excess shaving cream from his hands on a towel and picked his razor. Stan twisted the handle and the safety razor opened like a flower. Stan reached out and cupped the back of Rick's head.

"Your face looks better." he said, observing the healing black eye and the few cuts on Rick's face. Rick hadn't really seen a mirror in days but based on the tenderness he felt in his face he didn't really think Stan was being truthful.

"Why are you worried about my face?" Rick chuckled. He wondered if the shaving cream hid the redness of his skin.

"I'm not. I'm worried about your ego." he said with a chuckle. Stan adjusted his hold on the razor and leaned in closer with a little smirk. "You trust me?"

Rick made a face of mock apprehension, eyeing the razor, then grinned toothily.

"This is it. Lampshade time!" He joked. Perhaps judging by Stan's expression and the twitch of the fingers on his skull, Rick continued in good natured exacerbation. Rick rolled his eyes, but there was a sardonic smile on his lips. "Oh come on! Learn to take a joke, Stan!"

Seemingly unbidden Rick's hand came up to hook on the arm curling behind his head.

"Of course I trust you, stupid." It came out more tender than Rick had anticipated. Stan blinked a couple times. He had expected the sardonic answer but not an actual admission of trust. Was it part of the game? Stan decided he didn't care.

"That's good cause I like your face where it is." Stan slowly and expertly swiped the razor against Rick's jaw, rinsing it in the sink and returning for another pass. He focused on every inch of skin as it was revealed.

Rick had never let someone do this before. A shave was not a luxury for Rick. It was a utilitarian act, something that needed to be done and not something he gave much mind to. But, and this may have had to do with the fact that is was Stan doing it, the short meticulous strokes felt incredible. This was a solitary act made collaborative. It almost felt like Rick was letting Stan in on something private and personal. For the second time, tonight Rick was stuck on just how sexy a nonsexual act could truly be.

Stan slid his hand around to the side of Rick's neck, his palm against the prominent collar bone, the space between his thumb and index finger resting at the side of Rick's neck and his thumb pressed softly to the other man's Adam's apple. He hummed softly to "May You Never" as it played in the other room. He shaved the underside of Rick's chin with the concentration of a surgeon.

Rick closed his eyes softly, savoring the touch. The mellow guitars and organ ran through his head, accompanied by the gentle sound of Stan's voice following the melody with a comfortable familiarity. The 'Slowhand' album, Rick noted distantly. It was good to know Stan had good taste. Rick tipped his head back a bit to give Stan better access to his work.

Stan finished up the tricky angles of Rick's jaw then rinsed the razor and placed it on the sink. He wiped the extra shaving cream off of Rick's face and neck. Once his face was clean, Stan cupped the side of Rick's face and ran his thumb over the high cheekbone.

"There you are." Stan said softly as all thoughts of the game evaporated from his mind. Rick opened his eyes and looked into Stan's own. He was relaxed beyond all schemes and plans now. All he could think of was white bedsheets and ugly green vinyl booth seats and the chill of blue moonlight kept at bay by hot red blinking neon. The tastes of cheap beer and hotel room mouthwash and Stan's lips.

Clapton coaxed a loose and easy blues riff from his guitar, lamenting on that mean old Frisco and that low down Sante Fe but Rick could not register anything beyond the basic vital soul of the sound. The kind of music you might hear in a smokey roadhouse on a frigid winter night.

"Here I am..." Rick agreed stupidly, not knowing what the statement meant. His smile was halcyon, dreamy and somehow regretful.

Stan slid his fingers into Rick's damp hair. He leaned close, stopping just before their lips met. His heart was pounding as he looked at those lips and he felt like he couldn't catch his breath. He looked back into Rick's eyes.

"Rick..." he said softly. It was asking and calling. Rick wrapped his long fingers in the front of Stan's undershirt. It felt like speaking took every ounce of willpower Rick had to just work the words past his lips.

"Call it a tie, Stud."

Stan kissed Rick hard. It was like a dam breaking. He kissed that man with all the pent up feelings that had accumulated over the past days. Thick fingers of both hands buried in damp blue hair as he moaned and pressed his tongue past Rick's lips. Rick unabashedly kissed back. He pulled Stan's shirt as if he needed some kind of leverage. His tongue fought with Stan's own and Rick reveled in the taste of Stan's mouth. Rick's heart was all the way up in his throat and it palpated with hammer like blows. Rick had wanted this for much longer than his stay at the Mystery Shack and nothing in the intervening years had lived up to what was unapologetically, wholly, truly Stan Pines.

Tossing the towel away, Stan scooped up Rick and carried him out of the room. His big arms wrapped around Rick's waist. Ten years ago Stan had carried Rick into the bathroom like this. Now he was carrying him out. Rick wrapped his good leg around Stan's middle and his arms encircled Stan's neck. He held on, mouth working against Stan's own. Rick's erection dug into Stan's lower belly.

Stan stumbled slightly as he started up the stairs. His hand shot out and he caught himself on the bannister. He chuckled and pulled away slightly to look into Rick's face. Rick clung tightly when they pitched to one side, sure they were going to go down and both end up with broken legs this time but could only favor Stan with a surprised and amused smile, laughing through his teeth. Smiling, Stan kissed Rick again and continued up the stairs.

As soon as they were in the room Stan laid Rick down and climbed up between Rick's legs. He moaned softly into Rick's mouth as he worked his suspenders off his shoulders, their mouths never parting. With the suspenders hanging at his hips, Stan's hands were free to wander over chest and sides coming to rest on Rick's hips as he ground his crotch against Rick's own. Rick gasped into Stan's mouth at the rough feeling of the other man's hardness rubbing against his through Stan's slacks. He hands scrambled up Stan's back, pulling his undershirt up. Stan followed Rick's lead ending the kiss and lifting his big arms over his head so Rick could remove his shirt before beginning the hard wanting kisses anew. Rick dropped the shirt thoughtlessly so his hands could explore the newly exposed flesh of Stan's solid body. It never made it out of the bed, landing on the quilt near Rick's feet. Stan pulled away and looked at Rick like he was truly the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

"Aw hell..." he chuckled in awe of having Rick in bed with him again. His fingers went back into Rick's hair and he pulled gently as he kissed and nibbled down Rick's throat. Rick arched his body into the touch, moaning his approval. It was like the last ten years had never happened. Everything was comfortable and, dare Rick even think it, fun again. He knew with utter clarity that this was what every night would have been like if Stan had taken him up on his offer. Now that he thought about it, the offer had never really been taken off the table. There was no way Stan had held out hope on that busted up portal. He had said so himself that he was focused on other things now. His family and business. Rick took Stan's face in his hands and kissed him hungrily.

"You miss this, huh?" He whispered between kisses "You missed us..."

Stan chuckled against Rick's lips. "Yeah I did." He kissed Rick slow and deep as he ground himself against Rick again. He moaned along with Rick. "I know you missed us too." he whispered back.

Rick's body shuddered with want and he rolled his hips with Stan, matching his rhythm and just wanting to get off with Stan so badly.

"Mmhmm." He agreed, hotly "S'nobody like you, Stan. All that time wasted..."

Stan smiled. "That's a big compliment coming from you, Rick." he kissed the other man softly. "And it's gonna be fun making up for lost time with you." he kissed Rick hard again as Stan reached between them and started unbuttoning his pants.

"I mean it. I've been a lot of places, seen a lot of shit. Infinite dimensions with infinite Stanfords and I... I'd still fuck you anytime." Rick was rambling now but he didn't care. He was hyper focused on the desire pumping through his veins and needed to have Stan now. He kissed Stan ardently and his hands slipped into the back of the man's slacks to squeeze his ass. Stan laughed a bit then groaned at the feel of Rick's hands.

"Mmm, does that mean infinite Ricks?" he kissed up Rick's jaw and nibbled his earlobe. "How do I know you're the same one from Palmer's?" he chuckled.

"Oh, you'd know. There's no one like me either. The only other Stan I met didn't measure up. I mean... I was thinking of you the whole time. Didn't spend the weekend with him..." Rick laughed hard and bucked his eager sex against Stan.

"That's so fucking weird." Stan laughed and pulled back to smile at Rick. This felt like the weekend in the hotel room. Easy and fun. He was hard and Rick felt good against him. The words came through suddenly. "What do you mean about not spending the weekend?"

Stan kept his tone light. He was probably wrong but he needed to know. Rick pushed Stan's slacks and boxers down below Stan's ass. He slipped his finger down, looking to press it inside.

"... I don't stay the night when I fuck. You're the exception, you know that..." He panted. He didn't want to stop kissing and all this talk was getting in the way. His tongue stole into Stan's mouth once again. Stan pulled away, his eyes searching Rick's face.

"You fucked him?" he asked breathlessly. This felt like a punch in the gut. Rick looked up at Stan, genuine confusion coloring his flushed features.

"Hwu... what?" He managed after a beat. His head was spinning "I mean, yeah. Yeah, I did. But he didn't - he wasn't you. Er, he was but he wasn't, you know what I mean? It was nothing like the real thing..."

Rick smiled lewdly, reached out and took Stan's arm, pulling him back to his lips.

"Get off. Fucking stop!" Stan pushed Rick away. "Son of a bitch!" he growled as he climbed off the bed, pulling up his boxers and pants as he did.

"I'm a fucking idiot." he grumbled running a hand through his hair. He turned back to Rick. "I was right here, Rick. I was right here! You went and fucked some other me and think it's ok cause it wasn't as good?"

Rick sat up, a look of insult suddenly joining his confusion. His kiss bruised mouth hung open slightly and his tone was split between pleading and righteous indignation.

"I couldn't get you out of my head. And I couldn't come back here. Not after how you blew up at me! I only did it cause I couldn't stop thinking about you. Jesus, take the compliment, Stan!" He explained "I figured once I got it out of my system, it wouldn't bother me anymore but I was wrong. That's what you want to hear? I fucked up? Cause that's all I ever seem to do with you..."

Rick looked at one of the books on his bedside table and sneered.

"I just happened to run into the guy and things happened. I didn't go out looking for it. I didn't plan to get some strange...unlike you seem to be doing." He added, in an acidic rumble. Stan's brow knit together in confusion.

"I was ok with you fucking some aliens or something cause they could do something for you I couldn't but then ya actually find another me and ya fuck him. Oh! Oh! But it's all cause you were hung up on me so I should be flattered." he said sarcastically. "And where did you get the stupid idea that I'm on the prowl? I've been at work and with you this whole time."

Rick laughed bitterly as if he were in on a particularly tasteless joke. He picked up a thin hardcover book and tossed it at Stan. It landed on the ground at the man's feet.

"Oh please, Stan. If you're going to bullshit me at least be smart enough to not leave me with the research material to call you out on it." He spat. He jabbed an accusatory finger at The United States Road Atlas, 1980 "Go ahead and have a look. I had a peek at your little off season vacation. That suburb you're so keen to spend the winter at is just twenty minutes away from San Fransisco. A straight shot down the I-80 and bam! You're in the heart of the faggot's Mecca of the west coast. A quicker drive than this place is from Palmer's Peak!" Rick spat. There was a nasty humor in his eyes.

"You think I actually think I'm using my family as a cover to go out to San Francisco and fuck around?" Stan laughed. It was a mean sound. Not the way laughter should sound. "You are a whole other level of fucked up. I give a crap about family and you couldn't care less. No wonder the only reason you can think of for me to go out there is to get fucked." he shook his head condescendingly. "You are right that San Francisco is closer to Piedmont than the shack is to Palmer's though. Some homophobic assholes burned it down years ago." There was regret in Stan's voice and maybe a hint of loss.

If there was any betrayal of a reaction at that from Rick, it was too faint to register. Of course Stan would deny it. He would hide behind his shitty sense of family loyalty as he always did, the hero behind his noble shield. He used it to keep Rick from taking him away from his safe little life and now he was using it as a cover for his true intentions.

Rick wanted to stand, wanted to encroach on the bigger man's space and see how confident he was then. He could only push himself to sit at the edge of the bed but Rick took no hit to his tenacity just because he was naked and injured. If anything it strengthened his resolve. Like an animal, Rick was most ready to fight when he was cornered and hurt.

"Oh really? Well, you must be real fuckin' excited for your trip now. Haven't had an outting since eighty-five! You put that timid little homo right back into the closet after I left, huh? No, you don't want to go out there because you can fuck any So Cal twink who looks at you twice, far away from the hicks that pay your mortgage. Gosh no, not fat ugly sweet Stanford, no one would want him. why would he even bother? The last time he nutted up enough to go to a gay bar he didn't last three hours before he let slip that he plowed his brother through high school!" Rick snarled undaunted. He nodded his head, sharply, tensely. "But oh no, you're going for your family. Of course you are! How could you pass up a chance like this? Anywhere in the world, anywhere in the multiverse and you choose to go where an aging faggot like you can get his rocks off, incognito. Well, go ahead! Bounce your little nephew on your knee then spend the night in the Castro letting some big fucking leather daddy bounce you on his!"

Stan stood very still. He fixed Rick with an unreadable yet angry stare. If Rick wanted to be right so badly then he was going to let him be right. Stan stepped over the book at his feet. He towered over Rick for once and then he smiled.

"I guess I can't fool you." he said crossing his arms over his chest. "But you're an idiot if you think I haven't been back there since eighty-five. Did you really think I just sat here and pined for you? Do you really think you're that good?" he laughed again. His face was dark and mean but Stan smiled through it. "I was a regular at Palmer's. Put in my time on both sides of the stall wall. Glory glory hallelujah."

Rick's face was in a grimace that seemed to be trying at indifference but his eyes were on fire.

"You were right as usual. I could have any guy in there. And I did. Even had one live with me for a month. That ass was the best I ever had. How does it feel to know some kid spent a month in my home, in my bed and you never made it there? I didn't even bring you there when I was planning on fucking you tonight." he sneered, taking pleasure in the look on Rick's face. "Let's see. What else have you missed since you disappeared a decade ago after I chose my family over you?" Stan pretended to think for a minute before adopting that mean smile. "I forgot. The motel changed hands. Now they hold room number twelve for Hal Forrester every other week. And for a whole month in January." he leaned in close to Rick. "And unlike you I never thought of you once. How does it feel to be the pathetic little homo pining away for a better man?"

Rick swung at Stan. It was a right hook aiming for Stan's jaw. Stan saw it coming a mile away and swayed back in a fade that his boxing coach would have been proud of. Rick tumbled to the ground, his momentum overtaking him. He landed on his side, his ankle rolling and a lightning bolt shot up his leg. Rick pressed his forehead to the floor and clenched his eyes closed.

" _Fuck_!!!" He shouted in agony. Stan's big hand reached out to help Rick back into the bed. He was angry but he couldn't leave Rick laying on the floor. Rick swiped at Stan's hand, shoving it away.

"Fuck you, Stan!" He said harshly. He snapped his head up and regarded Stan with scorn "I should've known! You smoke pole like the world's ending tomorrow. I bet you just couldn't wait to get your hot little lips on some other guy's junk! Fucking slut!"

Stan looked down at Rick for a moment, his face losing that mean edge. Only solemn pity could be seen.

"You're one to talk, Rick. Fucked your way across the universe just to get hung up on a man you threw away and you'll never have again." he stepped over Rick and went to the door. "Don't know why you're so mad. I'm not your's and you aren't mine. We crossed that bridge. Then you blew it up and walked away, thinking I'd sit here waiting for you like a loyal dog."

"Where's my portal gun, Stan?! Just give it to me and I'll go! That's what you want, isn't it?" Rick slowly began to pull himself to a sitting position, being very careful of his ankle. The pain was singing all through his leg. He held his foot in both hands hoping that would help. He didn't look at Stan, rather at the floor, brow knit in anger and jaw set. Stan looked down at Rick and his stomach sank. He'd done this to the other man. Stan did want Rick to leave. Well, part of him did, but not like this.

"Where you gonna go, Rick?" he asked softly. "You can't even stand. You got someone to take care of you?"

"I don't need anyone to take care of me..." Rick muttered bitterly. "Just get out."

Never in his life had Stan ever seen someone look so broken and never would Stan think he could hurt someone like that. He wanted to go to Rick and apologize and tell Rick he lied while kissing the other man until the broken pieces went back together. But it was too late. Stan walked out and shut the door behind himself. Stan went to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, covering his face with his big hands as he fell apart.


	3. Part 3

Stan had barely slept that night. He lay in bed emotionally exhausted but wide awake, staring at the rough wood ceiling of his room. As the sun came up he couldn't take it anymore. Stan put on his glasses and threw on some clothes before jumping in the Diablo and driving to the Dusk 2 Dawn convenience store. 

Thinking back ten years he remembered Rick's cigarettes had been Magnas. Stan could remember the red packaging with its silver lettering in the middle of the pack. They were cheap and harsh tasting but they were good in a motel room at two am after an amazing fuck. Sadly, the harsh taste hadn't made them too popular and Dusk 2 Dawn didn't carry them. Leave it to Rick to like some off brand of hard to find cigarettes. It made Stan think of New Coke and he wondered what Rick thought of Crystal Pepsi. 

Stan bought a pack of Marlboro Reds because at least the pack was the right color and he often found you couldn't go wrong with Marlboro. He took his little treasure back to the shack and was happy to see he had plenty of time to finish everything up. 

After placing the pack of cigarettes in the kitchen Stan went back to his room and dug through Ford's clothes for something somewhat comfortable for Rick to wear. He ended up with a gray cardigan, a maroon polo shirt and the longest pair of slacks he could find. His brother hadn't been one for casual clothes and it showed now. He took the clothes down with him and placed them on a chair in the kitchen before digging through one of the closets for new books. He found a few but they were mostly old college textbooks. At least they were something. Finally, Stan started pulling everything together in the kitchen. 

He started by brewing fresh coffee because Stan was going to need it if he was going to get through the day. While that was going he mixed up some pancakes. It was one of the few things Stan could actually cook well. He had even been complimented a time or two on them. 

As he waited to flip the pancakes Stan wondered why he was doing all this. It had been Rick who was in the wrong but Stan still felt bad. Most of the stuff he had said about Palmer's had been a lie but he had said it to hurt Rick. It had been intentional and that wasn't right. Clearly, Rick cared about Stan more than he would ever admit and, unlike Stan, Rick wasn't used to being tossed aside. Stan had a tougher skin. That wasn't an excuse for Rick's behavior but being angry wasn't an excuse for Stan either. 

Stan found a dented tray and pulled down his mother's Shabbat plates. Shermie had insisted Stan take them as he was the oldest brother and their mother was too sick to observe Shabbat by herself. Shermie still went to temple but Stan had left religion behind years ago. It was nice to have something of hers and they were much nicer than his chipped mismatched ones were but he still only used them for the far and few between special occasions. 

Stan plated the pancakes and arranged everything with care on the tray. Butter and syrup beside the pancakes. Cream and sugar beside the cup of coffee. Cutlery layered out on a napkin and last but not least the pack of cigarettes and Stan's old Zippo found their place on the tray. 

Stan took off his glasses and rubbed his face with his big hand as he thought of one more thing he wanted to add. He returned to the kitchen a few minutes later with a small batch of wildflowers he had picked from the edge of the forest. He felt like a sentimental old fool as he pulled down an old mason jar and poured a bit of water in it before depositing the flowers inside. He placed that on the tray and stood back to look at his creation. 

It looked like a 1960's Mother's Day ad put out by Marlboro but it was the best he was going to do and maybe Rick would think it was funny. He sighed and tucked the books and clothes under his arm and picked up the tray. 

The dishes clinked quietly as he walked up the stairs and he hoped nothing would topple over. It had taken a bit of maneuvering to get the attic door open but he got it eventually. Stan peaked inside to see if Rick was awake. He made an exhausted noise as he saw that Rick was still on the floor under the quilt he had presumably pulled off the bed. Stan knew he should have fought with Rick to put him back into the bed but so much had happened last night. 

Stan quietly placed the tray on the desk and deposited the clothes and books beside it. Crouching down Stan picked up Rick and placed him in the bed but as he pulled his arms free of the other man's weight, the blankets shifted and Stan's heart broke when he saw that Rick was wearing his undershirt. Stan wanted nothing more than to climb in beside Rick and curl up around him until he woke up but he had a feeling it would bite him in the ass if he did. 

Stan looked at his watch and cursed quietly. He grabbed the clothes and books and placed them at the end of the bed. Stan moved to the door but stopped to look back one more time before disappearing downstairs.

When Rick at last gained consciousness it was with the jolt he was accustomed to. He checked himself, taking stock in the way someone who was perpetually transient did. He remembered the events of the previous night working backward from the fact that he was back in bed. He cursed himself realizing it meant Stan had seen him on the floor. Rick was sure he could have gotten himself back into bed but he had just been so tired and defeated that he did not have enough fight in him to try. When he found Stan's undershirt in the folds of the quilt he had almost thrown it across the room. He had relented after a moment and slipped it over his head instead. It was still damp so any excuse of using it solely for warmth would not hold water. Rick begrudgingly acknowledged that he felt exposed. He felt angry and tricked but the shirt smelled like Stan and even though it was Stan Rick was angry with, there was comfort in the scent of the dark masculine cologne. He had at last willed himself to sleep as recourse from thinking about what had happened.

Rick sat up in bed. Mid-morning light was filtering in through the high window and it cast a softness into the room. It didn't match Rick's mood. For lack of a better term, Rick was experiencing an emotional hangover. Sour unspent lust, betrayal and painfully self-aware self-loathing battled for supremacy in his mind. Rick pulled a knee up to his chest and he rested his head on it. That was when he saw the tray Stan had left for him. He picked up the knicked Zippo and the pack of cigarettes. The cellophane was still on it. His heart fell as self-loathing pulled ahead in the race. Why in the world would Stan do this? Rick had overreacted (and that was one hell of an understatement) and yet Stan had seen fit to greet him with the most beautiful breakfast Rick had ever seen. How did that make sense? 

Rick lit up and puffed carefully. Now, this was a cigarette. It was exquisite. Rick spent the next thirty minutes chain smoking and eating breakfast. He was surprised to find that the pancakes were incredible. Rick had a pretty big sweet tooth in general but he had a weakness for pancakes.

He had started sipping the room temperature coffee but when he had reached the end of the first cigarette he considered the wildflowers in their jar. He grumbled to himself, bolted the last of the coffee, reaching the undissolved sugar sludge at the bottom and put his cigarette in the mug. At last with the pancakes gone, Rick had no other distraction from his most dangerous companion: his thoughts.

He lay on his side, appraising the bouquet. He faintly saw his reflection in the dewy glass of the mason jar, a male counterpart to the black-eyed Susans. He was utterly bewildered by the sweet touch.

Paranoia, a new contender in Rick's mental free for all, made itself known. Rick had never had the lack of confidence to let anybody abuse him, but he had seen the signs before. The little types of manipulation scumbags used to keep their lovers in line and Stan made his living even now off of manipulating people. He wondered perhaps if the gesture was the classic emotional misdirection of someone trying to get their distressed partner to forget why they were upset in the first place.

All this joking about Stan being a serial killer was well and good but what if Stan really was trying to keep Rick here? The guy had been living alone now in this creepy sweat lodge in the woods with not much beyond his decades long obsession with his brother to keep him company. He was probably starved for human intimacy and Rick had deposited himself on Stan's front door, hurt, needing to be taken care of. Pictures of Kathy Bates and James Cann in "Misery" sprung to Rick's mind.

Rick dismissed that. Stan was really just too sincere, too disgustingly good-hearted, to be that devious. There was a difference between shrewd and insidious. Rick wondered how a man so heartfelt hadn't been chewed up and spit out long ago. Nevertheless, Rick made a mental note to get his portal gun back at the next opportunity.

With some difficulty, Rick took the clothes from the bottom of the bed and pulled them on. He ran his palms down the cable knit front of the cardigan, self consciously. Rick had put together that these clothes were not Stan's from the first night. Stan wouldn't have a warm-up suit from any college. Not when he'd been kicked out of his house before he finished high school. That left the only other former occupant of this house. The Brother. He could tell by the man's apparent dress habits, that he was fastidious and polished. They were all cottons and wools, soft things of comfort. Rick felt wrong in these clothes. They weren't him. He was made of denim and leather. How could Stan want someone like Rick, when the only great love of his life had been so obviously gentle? 

That was just it though, Rick reminded himself. Stan did not want him, not one bit. He had said so last night. Rick had been stupid enough to catch himself admitting to his infatuation in their time apart and Stan had torn him limb from limb over it.

Rick had mentioned his one encounter with Vulcan Stanford, but it hadn't been in an attempt to hurt Stan. He should have known it would have gotten under Stan's skin with his inability to look at the multiverse with macro vision. All of that aside, he could not fathom how Stan took that as a sign that it was ok to give Rick the play by play of all his dirty run ins over the last decade.

Rick's malnourished shoulder angel reminded him that the two of them never had any kind of agreement outside of their long weekend together and Stan was not beholden to ask Rick's permission for what he did in the dark. But that didn't stop the jealousy from corroding Rick's thoughts. He felt stupid for being so hung up on Stan and angry at being called out on it.

Now that he thought about it, Rick really was in the right in this situation. He had figured that they were both adults but Stan was the one who had to go and make it personal. Rick would have never brought up San Francisco if Stan hadn't gotten so hurt by the one truthful little fact that Rick had slept with someone else. If Stan was allowed to be so upset about Rick fucking one guy, Rick had every right to be upset about Stan potentially fucking the better half of Roadkill county's gay community and probably fixing to take his ass on a second grand tour of San Francisco's darker, more decadent corners. 

The whole thing was hypocritical. Stan was on his high horse again and was expecting Rick to lay on the ground and eat shit while Stan rode by. Well, not if Rick could help it. He wasn't going to let Stan fuss and coo over him like a bird in a cage, letting himself be the big hero once again, just to boot him out when the greener pastures of California called. Rick refused to give Stan the satisfaction. The moment he had his hands on his portal gun, Rick was out of there. Rick Sanchez would not be caught.

 

  
The noises started a little afternoon. Stan didn't know where it was coming from at first but as it continued Stan pinpointed the attic as the origin. The man of mystery was about to hit the roof but it was right before a tour and tickets were already purchased so he did the tour through the theatrical wails coming from the house. He fobbed the tourists off with ghost stories which worked out better than he had expected and sales picked up a bit at the gift shop but he couldn't do his last few tours with the increasingly more disturbing and borderline obscene noises coming from the house. 

Between tours, Stan stomped upstairs. When he opened the attic door he was hit with a cloud of cigarette smoke that made his lungs burn after so long without a smoke. He coughed and hacked as he came into the room and rushed to open the window. 

"Jesus Christ, Rick! Did you smoke the whole pack?" He said using his fez to wave the smoke out the window.

"S'not like I could crack a window-" Rick stopped when he saw Stan clearly. It was his first time laying eyes on him in his burgundy and yellow Mr. Mystery outfit. A grin of disbelief became plastered on his face. "Oh my God. Oh...my God, Stan. Is that what you wear to work? Like... you chose that outfit? You look like the Riddler if he was a Shriner! I mean I don't look much better. Mr. Rogers, sex offender over here, but I didn't get to pick my clothes. You know when you run the place you can wear whatever you want, right?"

Stan stood there, feeling a bit self-conscious. "The tourists like it." He said if that explained everything. "It's part of the tour. They expect it." He looked down at his clothes then back up at Rick. "So I may have leaned a bit hard into the whole thing but it's not that bad.....right?"

Rick did not reply but the smug look seemed to speak volumes.

"Ok. I may not want the answer to that. But you gotta quiet down up here. It's messing up my tours. I had to tell the last group it was the ghost of Conway Twitty." Stan explained with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked a bit tired and drawn today and he knew it but he tried to hide it under some bluster. Rick laughed so hard at that he began to cough violently. He held his sides and tried to ride out the pain in his ribs but kept hoarsely giggling regardless. 

"Oh, that's a good save! That's a ree-he-" Rick hacked again "- eally good save. You really are a classic bullshitter, Stan." He lit up another cigarette headless of Stan's complaints. He shook the pack at Stan as a sign he had not, in fact, smoked them all yet.

Stan looked suspiciously at Rick. He was happy Rick seemed in a good mood but Stan had a feeling that pancakes and cigarettes weren't enough to lighten Rick's outlook.

"So what was the wailing about? You ok?"

Rick had gotten Stan up here and that part hadn't been easy. Rick was about to start throwing things out the window if Stan hadn't come up. He wondered what Stan might have told the tourists if hardcover books began raining down on their heads. Now Rick had the task of convincing Stan to bring him down and leave him alone downstairs. Rick didn't know if he could navigate the stairs on his bum leg. He may have hurt it again in the fall last night so he wasn't willing to risk it. Once he was alone he could figure out some kind of crutch and it was a matter of time before he found where Stan had hidden his portal gun. Then it was so long Shithole, Oregon.

Rick looked at Stan with an easy smile on his lips but there was something unpleasant beneath it. He shrugged.

"Oh, nothing. I just figured if you're going hide me up here in the attic like some kind of monster, I should play the part." Rick explained. He plugged the cigarette onto the side of his mouth and made raptor like claws of his hands. He ground out a weird ghostly wail that, now that Stan had mentioned it, did have a kind of country western yodeling edge to it. He cocked an ear and after a moment heard distance voices below asking what was that and if anybody else had heard that spooky sound. Rick held up his hands in a 'see?' fashion and smiled with a sickly kind of charm. Stan huffed an exasperated sound. 

"I'm not hiding you up here. You were hurt when you got here and it's loud on the main floor." He explained. Rick rolled his eyes and fixed Stan with a look of indulgent deference. He touched the collar of his cardigan lightly adding to the attractive college professor look. 

"Stan, I'm saying I'm dying of boredom up here. Can you blame me? I'm a princess in a tower with nothing but MIT textbooks. I'm smart but I'm not a nerd." Rick explained. He hoped Stan didn't think his easy going nature was suspicious but if he wanted to get his portal gun it was better to attract flies with honey. "Don't you have cable out here in the sticks?"

Stan gave Rick a suspicious look. The man had something up his sleeve but Stan couldn't put his finger on it. He couldn't blame Rick for being board though. "Yeah. I've got cable. I'll warn ya it isn't that good though. You might find something to watch but the channels are as weird as the rest of the place. Let me put the splint back on first." Stan sat on the edge of the bed and quickly reassembled the splint on Rick's leg. All the pieces hadn't gone far. Once it was done he looked at his watch. His next tour was in about ten minutes.

"Can we talk about last night when I'm done with work?" He asked cautiously. Rick bit back the phrase 'nothing would make me happier.' as it marched up his throat. It seemed he was going to get what he wanted so best not to lay it on so thick. He sighed softly and made an exasperated face as if he'd been caught trying to distract Stan from the elephant in the room.

"I mean... If you really want to." He grumbled.

"I do." Stan said matter of factly "But I've got a tour in a minute and if I push back one the whole day falls apart." He said before scooping Rick up and carrying him downstairs. Once he had Rick suitably comfortable in his easy chair with the remote he fixed Rick with a soft half smile.

"We'll talk tonight ok?" He didn't wait for Rick's answer before slipping out the door to the gift shop. Rick fought the urge to immediately start pulling himself to his feet. He couldn't risk Stan sticking his head back into the room and seeing Rick going through his things.

Rick tried to gently push his foot forward in the splint to test how badly he had reinjured himself but did not make the full extension before he was rewarded with a throb of aching pain. He bit his lip and ground out an obscenity under his breath. It probably would have been worse without the splint on. Rick decided he was definitely not getting far without a walking stick.

Rick decided to bide his time with the television until he was sure Stan was occupied. By the time he heard Stan outside delivering his welcome spiel (Rick mouthed along with the part about 'a world of wonders and befuddlements.' No matter how Stan improvised his speech, he seemed to always say that part and Rick had been hearing it nearly a dozen times a day for a week) Rick found he wasn't going to be distracted by what was on. He didn't know if there could be an opposite to interdimensional cable but if it was possible it was Gravity Falls Public Access TV.

The Hamm beer sign above Rick's head struck the hour and a loop of trickling water and other nature sounds began. Rick tilted his head back to look at it. God, that was trashy. But it seemed to coincide with Stan's lopsided hunting lodge aesthetic. He looked closely a moment longer and something began to bother him. From this angle, Rick could see that the bottom of the sign appeared to be sinking into the wall.

Rick put his good foot on the easy chair's cushion and he pushed himself up to sit on the headrest. He inspected the sign further and found it was only bracketed at the top and superficially at that. Rick pulled up and the nail came free. Rick was surprised to see an empty space behind it.

"You sneaky bastard..." Rick mused, impressed despite himself. He rooted around inside cataloging the contents. A bug out bag with clothes and several sets of paperwork and IDs all in different names. Rick noted the vain little tells in Stan's other identities.  Pinington and Forester and one particularly sloppy one under the name of Stanwick Lepine. The bottom of the duffle bag was lined with rubberbanded stacks of bills in small denominations but no portal gun. Rick was both impressed by Stan's preparedness and troubled by the craftiness it implied. Rick's gun would not be just lying around in the open. He slammed the wall display up onto the wall and it gave a stinted squawk. It would never make the nature sounds on the hour again and Stan would never bother fixing it.

Rick lowered himself to sit, then pushed himself to stand one-legged on the floor. He surveyed the room and when he didn't see anything suitable for a makeshift crutch in arm's reach be began to laboriously hop towards the door. Maybe there was a broom in the kitchen. He reached the three steps leading up out of the den and stared at them in irritation. 

"Who puts stairs into a living room?" He muttered, shaking his head. He braced his hands on the door frame and hopped up each step with care, eyes turned down. He reached the hallway successfully.

"Ok, ok. Got it. Now all I need is some kind of crutch...a crutch or cane...." He thought out loud, eyes still on the floor and groping for the stair's handrail. He lifted his head and his eyes at once fell on the coat rack on the door. Stan's Mr. Mystery cane sat in the umbrella stand, forgotten in Stan's haste to reach his next tour on time. He looked at the eightball topper in bewilderment then around the room, as if trying to find the hidden cameras for the prank show he was obviously on. He made a face of self-aware mock hope and rose his voice to speak to the ceiling.

"Ok, all I need is a big bag of money and a Ferrari?" He waited and when neither of those dropped from the sky, he shrugged and laughed to himself. "Eh, worth a shot..."

With the cane in hand, Rick felt like he was practically flying around the house. He searched every drawer and shelf, knocked on every suspicious wall panel and even checked the washer and dryer. All he found in the laundry room was a few more of those hideous question mark button downs and one of Stan's Hawaiian print shirts. His own coat was cleaned, dried and hanging up on a bar. His boots, also clean, were tied together by the laces and slung over the bar as well. But as nice as a find this was, there was still no portal gun.

"Son of a bitch..." Rick growled as he sat down at the kitchen table with the two six-packs of Olympia beer he had found in the back of the pantry. If it hadn't been for the nightly beer with dinner, Rick could swear he was on the verge of the DTs but Rick had been craving a good binge, even if the beer was warm. He drank, contemplating what he was going to do. The more he thought about Stan and his bullshit Stockholm syndrome plan to keep Rick at the shack, the angrier he got and the angrier Rick got the more he drank.

Before he realized it, all the beer bottles were empty and Rick had heard Stan give his opening speech twice more from the far side of the house, each time igniting a bigger flame of resentment in Rick. The clock over the sink said it was four. Stan had his last tour at five and was usually up in the attic to retrieve Rick a little past six. Rick leaned back in the kitchen chair, his knee bouncing as he thought. His wheels were turning and the destination would not be a nice one.

Did Stan really think he could just keep Rick indefinitely? Rick Sanchez could not spend his life stuck in one place for Stan to stare at like one of his stupid jackalopes nailed to their driftwood displays. Rick looked down at his splint, at last making the connection to the origin of the piece of smooth wood holding his ankle still. That son of a bitch had patched Rick up with taxidermy supplies. For some reason, that was incredibly insulting.

Rick stood, leaning on the cane. He began to hobble to the laundry room. He was no funny toy novelty project, not to Stan or anyone else. Unlike the other beasties in the gallery, Rick Sanchez was alive. And he could bite.

 

  
Stan looked at his watch. Almost time for his last tour of the day. Then he could close up and have that talk with Rick. He was going to tell him the truth. Stan was going to fix this. 

He checked in with one of the kids running the cash register in the gift shop to make sure she didn't need change. Then stepped out the door and onto the gallery porch. He smiled and turned on the Mr. Mystery charm, trying to push the anxiety of talking to Rick later down. He surveyed the crowd that was starting to gather and stopped suddenly horrified. 

"Nope. Absolutely not." He grumbled storming off the porch. Rick stood amongst the milling crowd leaning on the eightball walking stick. He was wearing Stan's Hawaiian shirt which sagged on him, exposing his scrawny chest down to the breast bone. He had cuffed his slacks just below the knee and they looked like a pair of particularly cheap Bermuda shorts. He was sporting a flip flop that didn't fit on his good foot. His black eye was covered with a pair of knock-off tortoise shell Ray-Ban sunglasses and Stan was mortified to see his bucket fishing cap, perched at a jaunty angle on Rick's head. Stan thought if he had a cigarette in a holder, that Rick would've been the spitting image of Hunter S. Thompson. Rick favored Stan with his most winning smile. Stan noticed a few of the tourists looking his way so he put on a smile and said just loudly enough for the group to hear.

"Excuse me Sir, but this is a walking tour. I don't know if you'll be able to keep up." He leaned closer to Rick and said in a low voice. "What are you doing? You're gonna mess up your leg worse than it already is."

Rick looked at Stan over his sunglasses. His body language was pompous and mean and it seemed Stan was giving him just what he wanted.

"I've got this little baby." Rick said, nodding at the cane. He slurred a bit and Stan could smell the alcohol on Rick's breath. "I'm upwardly mobile now. Sanchez a gogo."

Stan almost did a double take when he saw the cane. "That's my Mr. Mystery cane. And it's not gonna take enough weight off your ankle." Stan looked back at the crowd that was now observing the interaction. "Why would you wanna take the tour anyway?"

"Isn't it take your pathetic pining homo to work day?" Rick asked throwing Stan's words from last night back at him. He peered over the sunglasses at Stan. "People are staring, Mr. Mystery. Better get your show on the road."

"I should have known you were up to something with the way you were acting." Stan grumbled. "Listen, last night was-" 

"Hey! Is this happening?" One of the tourists yelled. Mr. Mystery looked from the group of tourists back to Rick. He sighed, exasperated.

"Fine. Come on the tour but I don't wanna hear you complaining about your leg tomorrow and if you heckle me, I'll shut you down. You aren't the first smart ass on one of my tours." He started to walk back to the porch. Rick took Stan by the sleeve and pull him in to speak softly.

"Ah ah ah!" He said in with dark amusement "I think you forgot I'm the first smart ass on your tour who's fucked you six ways from Sunday. Maybe I should just let slip you were a stunt double for Deliverance. What do you think would happen then? I think it'd spice up the tour in a backwoods red state town like this."

Stan's eyes widened in surprise. There was fear in his eyes but also a mild look of betrayal. "Rick-" He started but another tourist cut him off. 

"Any time today Mr. Mystery!" 

He looked once more from tourists to Rick, apprehension all over his face and in his body language. Stan couldn't see Rick's eyes behind the sunglasses but he guessed there was nothing but cruelty there. Rick let go of Stan's arm deliberately, a verbal sign that Stan was allowed to go now.

"Don't. _Please_." Stan said quietly to Rick before ascending the steps up on the porch. Stan, ever the showman, took a deep breath and smiled through the fear.

"Welcome patrons of the Mystery Shack! I'm Mr. Mystery, your guide through this world of wonders and befuddlement. Come this way but I warn you, Some of my oddities are both amazing and mystifying." he looked quickly at Rick. "Who knows what might happen next." 

He opened the door and headed in for what he knew would be the worst tour he ever gave. Rick insinuated himself into the small group and held his tongue as he considered each person around him. The opening spiel was even worse in person, Rick decided as he watched Stan gesticulating wildly up on the porch. A new vein of disgust ran through Rick as he considered the heights from which Stan had fallen as a con artist. This was a man who had run coke in Columbia - for Pablo Escobar's close friends, if Stan's stories were to be believed - and he had been reduced to a carnival barker in the sticks. Rick waited.

He sidled up beside a pair of girls in their early twenties, tanned and windswept presumably on a spring break road trip, enjoying the kitschy tourist traps of the tri-state area. The oh so in aura of California radiated off them and Rick was reminded of San Francisco. That made his biting comment easier to say.

"Would you get a load of his suit? I know these places are supposed to be trashy but I didn't know you could get your clothes out of an actual dumpster for this job." Rick said in a way that said he was trying to not be heard but making sure it was just loud enough so everyone could. One of the girls giggled and her friend playfully hit her on her arm, telling her to stop and how terrible she was. She was laughing too. They both looked over at Rick and he wiggled his brow in an exaggerated flirty way and they both broke into new hushed giggles. Rick knew the sweet saucy grandpa act worked on young girls. They'd let you get away with just about anything because you were 'just the cutest little thing' when you were fresh. Rick looked over his glasses at Stan meaningfully.

Stan rolled his eyes and carried on. He had had hecklers before and this was always how it started like this. This heckler was different though. Shutting this heckler down would end his career and his regular life as he knew it. Stan continued the tour, moving on swiftly to the picture of a horse riding another horse. Rick chummily hit a man beside him in the shoulder. He spoke behind his hand at full volume.

"Y'know the last time I saw a paay-" Rick belched "-iar of legs like his they were sticking out of a bucket of KFC." He said. The man laughed, joining the girls who kept looking away from Stan and to Rick. Biting the inside of his mouth Stan fought the urge to say something like 'that bucket of chicken has more meat than you do and it wouldn't be nearly as old and dried up' but one wrong move and Rick would out him and Stan couldn't afford that. He moved onto the six pack-alope while trying to figure out how to deter Rick.

Rick could sense the discomfort coming off of Stan. He was doing his best to push through the tour but was succumbing to the occasional misstep or stutter. It put a petty joy into Rick. He was gaining control and would momentarily have mob mentality on his side. Rick was not pretending to be surreptitious anymore.

"Careful, Gramps. If you break something they won't be able to replace it in your year and model. It's discontinued." He called. The crowd laughed at varying degrees of heartiness. Rick decided to ride the wave. "D-don't be worried about the nose though. I've never seen a snot box like that. It looks, looks indestructible. Can-can-can you smell what I'm thinking?"

Stan flubbed another line and closed his eyes a second just to think. The laughter was spreading fast and he was going to lose complete control soon. What was bothering Stan wasn't the loss of his tour. It was the fact Rick knew he could go toe to toe in the smart mouth game but he had tied both of Stan's hands behind his back and kept swinging and if Stan fought back at all he'd be slaughtered. This was low even by Rick's standards. To make it all worse there were a few locals on this tour who could practically give the tours themselves with their frequent visits. 

The best consolation Stan could offer himself was that at least they were laughing. Stan knew that no matter how bad the tour, if he could get the tourists to laugh it would turn out ok. Inspiration hit Stan's brain as a plan started to form. He kept his poker face in place as he guided the tour to the stairs in the gallery with the promise of a Figi mermaid caught off the beaches of Lake Gravity Falls. Rick sifted closer to the front and waited a moment as this particular bit went on until he heard the phrase "Figi mermaid" exit Stan's mouth.

"Yo, you know you can't call it a Figi mermaid if it didn't come from Figi, right? But, ah, it's a monkey carcass sewn to fish's ass anyway so I mean do what you want but..." He said. Another burp swallowed the remainder on Rick's sentence. Low ooo's mingled with the laughter this time. Rick slung a sociable arm around a nearby trucker, furtively leaning his weight on him a moment and joined in the laughter, though his laugh was controlled and cold-blooded. He addressed the crowd at large, who seemed to be waiting to hear what he had to say next.

"Now, now guys. Take it easy on him. It's his first day. No wait, it's his second day. He called out on the first." He put the weight back on his cane and cupped a hand next to his mouth to call out directly to Stan, even though he was no more than six feet away from him. "Hurry up and practice! I hear the tour's gonna start soon!"

Stan smiled at Rick and started laughing. He guffawed and slapped his knee as if he just couldn't keep it in any longer. 

"Oh gosh! I'm really sorry folks but I just couldn't keep it together. You really got me there, Ricardo. You were right, we needed more rehearsal." He approached Rick and slid his arm around the man's waist, his fingertips pressing a gentle warning against bruised ribs and flesh. He reached behind and snatched the cane out of Rick's hand, forcing Rick to lean his weight on him. "Let me introduce to you: Ricardo Sanderson. He's an amazing actor friend of mine who was nice enough to try out a heckling tourist idea I cooked up to keep you good folks entertained but his hilarious jokes made even Mr. Mystery himself laugh. We really need to work on the script. You folks feel free to wander around the gallery while Ricardo and I discuss it."

Stan pressed his fingers into Rick's side and walked the other man into the Mystery Shack and through the den to the front hallway. Stan noticed there was a smattering of clapping and people were still laughing a bit as they left. Stan had worked so fast, Rick hadn't had time to fight back. He grunted softly at the dull pain as Stan pulled him along, fingers digging into his ribs. Rick guessed they weren't as far along in their healing as he thought. 

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Stan growled.

"How much time you got?" Rick replied, spiritedly. He hugged Stan, not because he wanted to but because he was not prepared to hop along unassisted. "You want a foursome with those co-eds? Cause I can probably make that happen..." 

Rick went to grab the cane back. Stan held the cane out of reach.

"No! Stop it! This is my life, Rick! This isn't where you can play your games. Why would you do that to me?" Pushing Rick's back against the wall and holding him there with one hand, Stan leaned in close. His expression was dark. "I have done nothing but try to help you and you've given me nothing but trouble."

"That's what happens when you feed stay animals, Stanford. They bite you." Rick laughed bitterly. He was tempted to kiss Stan on the nose, just to see what would happen. "You should kick me out. Give me my, my portal gun, which I know you're hiding by the way, and just let me go. I'd rather take my chances anywhere else than spend another second being subjected to your two-faced babying. At least you could stop sobbing about how noble and tragic you are, taking care of the waste of space you care nothing about."

"I never said any of that!" Stan exclaimed. "You showed up on my doorstep with the shit beat out of you, saying this was where you needed to hide cause of weird rays or something. I didn't want those things to find you! I didn't want them to hurt you so I hid the portal thing cause I knew you'd go running when the shit hit the fan." Stan stopped and pressed the cane into Rick's hand. "And I was right. Stay inside and out of the way while I lock up and I'll bring you the damn gun." 

He pushed away from Rick and headed back to the gallery with a pit in his stomach.

"Yeah, yeah, anything for you. It's your world, I just live in it!" The sarcasm was so thick Stan was surprised it wasn't dripping down Rick's chin. Rick raised his voice to call after Stan "And that suit makes you look like an asshole!"

Rick didn't wait for Stan's reaction, turning and beginning to make his way back up to the attic.

Rick waited in the attic, seething. He pulled off the bits of his tourist costume, throwing them across the room, spitting obscenities with each one. He wanted to pace but kept the urge in check, thinking of his ankle. Instead, he laid in bed and smoked the remaining Marlboros, grinding them out in the mattress and enjoying the circular holes he left behind, like little mouths hanging open in shock. He halfheartedly hoped each cigarette would be the one to catch the mattress on fire and burn the whole miserable little shack to the ground, but each cigarette butt had been crushed with such vehemence, Rick knew it was not going to happen. The thought was hyperbolic but it made Rick feel better.

Once the cigarette pack was empty, Rick had no other choice except to stare up at the ceiling and stew. He twisted the cane in his hands, worrying it like a talisman. He watched the lights travel down the walls, transforming from orche to scarlet and finally dying entirely, leaving the room in darkness. Rick stayed laying there a while, not bothering to turn on the light, thinking in circles about Stan and his portal gun and his own shitty decisions. At last, hunger compelled him to get out of bed and hobble down the stairs. All he had to do was grab something out the fridge and retreat back to the attic. He didn't want to see Stan, not after the last twenty four hours. 

Rick pulled on the wife beater and cardigan and moved cautiously through the hallway. The rest of the house was dark as well, bathed only in sparse moonlight, radiating out from stained glass windows. Rick saw the yellow light spilling from the kitchen and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He stood there, not knowing what to do. He smelled the pungent scent of cigar smoke on the air and his brow furrowed. Curiosity unstuck Rick's legs and he steeled himself as he stepped into the kitchen.

Stan was sitting at the kitchen table, turned away from Rick. He was in his undershirt and slacks and had pulled his suspenders down where they rested on his hips. He had his arm on the table and his head was in it. He held a slumped defeated posture. Rick saw a cigar smoldering in a thick glass ashtray beside Stan. Just past that was a short glass, empty, and a bottle of Wild Turkey. Rick could see only a splash of the amber liquid left below the bottom of the label and the gold foil around the neck was twisted and unfurled as if Stan had been picking at it.

Rick stepped closer wishing he could be more quiet, but the clunk of the cane in his lopsided gait announced his presence. Rick figured if he couldn't be silent he could at least act like that hadn't been his plan. He crossed in front of Stan and appraised him as he spoke.

"Oh, I don't drink anymore, Rick. Quit smoking too." He said, regurgitating Stan's words to him on his first night at the shack. He sounded smug and vindicated. He picked up the bottle and shook it a bit for good measure. The last half finger still in the bottle sloshed and tinkled in the echoing confines of the glass. "Lucky you, Rick. You got the last of it. Hmph. You were holding out on me."

Stan lifted his head and looked at Rick. His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. His expression was lost and hurt.

"Didn't say I don't drink anymore." He slurred. He could hear it in his own voice and he knew he was plastered. "Said I don't drink as much. Doesn't matter anyways." He gently pulled the bottle from Rick's hand and poured the last of the liquor into his glass. He pointed to the portal gun laying on the table. "Got distracted." 

That was enough of an explanation as far as he was concerned. Rick looked at the gun then back at Stan. He sighed heavily and pulled the other chair over. He sat down and rested both hands on the eightball at the top of his stick. He distantly thought with such a pose and the grey cardigan, he must've really looked like someone's crotchety grandpa.

"I can see that." He said. He sneered disapprovingly. "You look like shit."

"And you look like an old man. Are we gonna sit here and say things we see?" Stan grumbled looking into his glass, contemplating the amber liquid. Rick rumbled a bitter laugh. 

"I've never driven someone to drink before. Or I've never seen it at least." He offered. He looked a bit too proud of that. There was a nonplussed look in Stan's eyes as he looked back at Rick. This wasn't fun drunk. This was 'I don't want to feel anymore' drunk and Rick's jokes weren't helping.

"Why're you still here? Thought you wanted to leave. Just leave my cane behind." Stan put the glass down. It still had that last bit of bourbon in the bottom of the glass. He picked up the butt of the cigar took one last deep drag and stubbed it out.

Rick looked at Stan then back at his portal gun. He took a deep breath and held it. Rick had never seen Stan look so utterly ruined before and he didn't like it. He couldn't just pick on Stan when he seemed so inclined to beat himself up. Rick worried his lower lip in his teeth then sighed heavily through his nose.

"I wasn't going to out you. I was just angry." He said at last. His tone was begrudging, the voice of an unremorseful child being made to apologize. He continued to look at the portal gun deciding that was better than making direct eye contact. There was anger in Stan's expression for just a moment before apathy washed it away. 

"Fuck you." He mumbled but with no feeling. He took his glasses off and placed them on the table. He ran his hand through his short hair. He looked back at Rick as he leaned back in his chair. His posture was sagging and he had a feeling he'd be spending the night at this table as he wasn't going to be able to navigate the stairs. 

"What're you waiting for? A kiss on the cheek?" He huffed a little laugh, not because any of this was funny but because he had been dumb enough to think any of this would work out.

Stan looked pathetic and yet when he took those glasses off, Rick could see the man who had charmed him in the roadhouse so clearly it almost hurt. He was angry but in that moment Rick knew his paranoia had all been unfounded. That turned his anger inward. He had been a jealous, single minded asshole and it had taken breaking Stan, this man who had nothing but good intentions in his over feeling heart, to see it. Rick put the cane down on the table and wrung his hands a moment.

"The third one. That was the lie." He said softly. Stan's eyes focused and he stopped breathing for a moment then he looked away and smiled softly.

"Almost forgot. You're right." The room was starting to spin a little and Stan hoped Rick would leave before he passed out. Stan's eyes stayed focused out the kitchen window. "But you didn't guess that I lied last night. That make it a tie? " 

Rick was taken aback by that. He had been talking about the last words Stan had told him before he had left the portal room. That Stan liked Rick more than was right, that he pitied him and that meeting Rick had been a mistake. Rick had thought about that last round of two truths and a lie many times over the last ten years. It would often fly unbidden into his head with no clear trigger and leave him feeling cold and guilt ridden. But now Rick was perplexed.

"What do you mean? I was talking about...." Rick trailed off. He searched Stan's face for an explanation.

"I know what you meant." Stan looked back at Rick. "I lied to you in the attic. I didn't fuck any other guys. I thought about it but... They weren't you. I thought about you every day." He picked up the empty bottle and looked at the label contemplatively. "Even went out and bought this stupid bottle of booze cause I thought you'd be back. Days to weeks. Weeks to months. Ya never came back... but I kept it. Like a talisman or something. As long as I had it there was a chance." He put the bottle down and picked up the glass, downing the last of the Wild Turkey in one go. "And now it's gone. And so are you." he placed the glass back on the table. "I was an idiot to think a guy like me could get a guy like you."

Rick felt Stan's words like a punch to the gut. He was stunned and a part of him wanted to fall to his knees before Stan, hug him around the waist and just refuse to let go. He found it difficult to rationalize what he was hearing.

"Are you kidding me? Why would you even want me? Me, of all people! I'm bad fucking news, Stan! For Christ sake, I called you a slut to your face and you brought me pancakes the next morning! I don't deserve that!" Rick's voice fell and he stared at the floor for a moment. "You don't deserve that..."

"I said it all to hurt you so I think we're kinda even." Blinking slowly, Stan focused on Rick. He shrugged and almost tipped out of the chair. Once he was righted Stan pointed at Rick. The remainder of Rick's words filtered into Stan's brain then.

"No." Stan said simply, before starting to count off on his fingers. "You're sexy. You're smart. You care, even though you want people to think you're a jerk. You're funny. You could do anything in the world but you're a space hobo which is kinda cool.... Did I say sexy?" Stan scrunched up his face. Thinking was hard right now and it was getting harder.

"You did." Despite everything, Rick felt himself smile. It was a sad kind of smile but Stan had wrung it out of him. A tense dour silence held the room a moment. An owl called outside.

"How soused are you right now?" He asked cautiously. Stan picked up the bottle again and plunked it down in front Rick. 

"This was mostly full when I started so..." 

Rick pointed a firm finger at Stan. He tried to sound resolute but it didn't seem to stick.

"Now I'm only saying this because you are probably so blitzed you won't remember this. I'm really good at running away, Stan. Really good. It's easier to not get hurt if you bail before anyone can get the chance. When I left you that night it was because I was being shitty and selfish and...I was afraid. I was afraid whatever dumb luck I had pulled you in with would wear off and you would see what a jerk I really was. You and me have a history. That much is true. But I've never met anyone as damn decent as you. Why do you think I came back here? You're the only person I can trust."

Stan nodded slowly. "Yup. I'm the big dumb guy that's always there. I'm good at sittin' around, waitin'." He picked up the glass and turned it in his hands as he studied it. "'m sorry I didn't wanna fuck. Knew if I did I'd wanna keep ya but you're right. Strays don't stay. Ya can't love the wild out of em." Stan felt hot tears prickle his eyes. Damn. This is why he didn't drink like this anymore. He was getting to be a sentimental coot in his old age. He took a shaky breath but wouldn't look up at Rick for fear he'd see the tears hanging in his eyes. "You going or what? The bourbon is gone. I release you. Your boots and coat are in the laundry room."

Rick felt a tight ball of frustration set up shop in his chest. He furrowed his brow.

"You just want me to run again so we don't have to go on with this?! Tell you I don't care about you so you can be rid of me?! Honestly part of me wants that too! Wants to break your goddamn heart because I'm poisonous and everyone I care about is worse off for it. Okay then, let's try it. I don't like you!" The last part was said with a momentary spark of stubborn conviction. It only lasted a beat before Rick visibly deflated in his chair. He put an elbow on the table and rested his face in his hand, covering his eyes. "That's bullshit. I do like you, but I don't want to deal with it. Maybe I like you more than I've ever liked anyone and have tried forgetting you and replacing you and trying to make you get rid of me so it wouldn't be my idea. You've... You've got me at a real loss here, Stud."

Rick shifted and rested his elbows on his knees hanging his head. He reached out blindly and unable to take Stan's hand, Rick touched his long fingers over Stan's knuckles and the top of his hand. It was unsure and almost clumsy coming from a man that was always so confident in all he did, but there was a genuine effort in it. It was an attempt at comfort from someone who had no idea how to give it.

Stan almost jumped when he felt Rick touch him. It had been the last thing he had been expecting. He looked at the hand on his then to the top of the other man's head. He could see where Rick was balding and that made him want to laugh but at the same time, he hated it. He wanted to remind Rick that it was Rick that said Stan was keeping him here against his will and it was Rick who said he wanted to leave but those were a lot of words for someone that drunk. 

The hand Rick wasn't touching placed the glass on the table. Stan turned the other hand and grasped Rick's gently in his grip. 

"If ya ain't goin then help me upstairs, I'm gonna pass out soon and I'd rather it be in my bed than this chair."

Rick lifted his head and looked at his hand, pallid and fragile, in Stan's own strong one. He burned that image into his brain, not knowing if he'd ever see it again and not wanting to forget it. A wave of heart wrenching warmth went through him. At last, Rick stood, still holding Stan's hand. He balanced himself with his other free hand on the kitchen table.

"Alright then. Up we go." Rick braced himself against the table and pulled Stan to his feet. Stan didn't lean his weight on him, barely remembering Rick's leg. 

"Less go." He slurred pointing out the kitchen door. Rick grabbed the cane and situated himself with Stan's arm over his shoulder and his free arm around Stan's waist.

"Mush." Rick said and urged Stan into motion. The pair moved like a pair of grade schoolers in their first three-legged race, awkward at first but slowly building up a rhythm as they became accustomed to it. Stan was woozy and staggering but Rick leaned into it with every other step, doing his best to recorrect Stan using the leverage of his good foot. When they got to the stairs, Rick realized it would be a different matter all together now.

Rick settled for leaning Stan against the wall while he navigated a step then he would pull Stan up to join him before leaning him on the wall and beginning again. When they reached the landing, Rick slipped his arm back around Stan's waist and peered into the dark. He had only passed through the second floor in Stan's arms, never stopping nor laying foot in any of the rooms.

"Which one is yours?" He asked Rick.

"That door." Stan pointed at a slightly ajar door. Once the two had hobbled through the door Stan flipped on the light. The room wasn't messy as much disorganized. The decor was that of a seventies bachelor, resplendent with sports photos and a picture of dogs playing poker.

"This. This is exactly what I pictured." Rick said trying to keep sarcasm in check. He and Stan swayed across the room and Rick deposited Stan on to the bed with a grunt. He sat down next to Stan and rested his cane against the bed frame. He bent over and pulled Stan's legs up into his lap, where he began to pick at Stan's double knotted shoelaces. Stan flopped back on the bed and blinked up at Rick. After a minute he started laughing. 

"Never thought I'd see you taking care of me."

Rick didn't look up from his work, pulling off one shoe and tossing it unceremoniously aside. He began undoing the other shoe.

"Don't think about it. Your head might explode." He said. He sounded as if he were trying to be reluctant about it but a smile was touching his mouth. He pulled off the second shoe then turned to look at Stan. "Unbutton your pants. I need to get them off."

Stan looked at him for a minute then complied. "Didn't think I'd ever hear that from you ever again." 

Once his pants were unbuttoned he pulled off his tank top and tossed it on the floor. Rick was surprised to see Stan do that. He had every intention of putting Stan to bed in his undershirt and boxers, but now the act had taken a step out of his control, somewhere back into the land of Rick's withheld desires. Rick pushed on. He shifted a bit more to face Stan and tapped his knuckles against Stan's clothed hip.

"Put 'em up." He instructed evenly. "And quit it with the color commentary. All those nevers and didn'ts are depressing me."

"I'm blamin' the booze." Stan answered. He didn't lift his hips but reached down and wrapped his hand around Rick's wrist. "Do I get to help you get undressed once you're done with me? " 

He smiled a little and gave Rick's wrist a soft meaningful squeeze. Rick fixed Stan with a withering stricken look. He wanted Stan badly. He continued as if undaunted.

"You're drunk, Stan." He said firmly. He began trying to work Stan's trousers down, taking care to not hook his fingers into Stan's boxers.

"So? S'not the first time." Stan pulled his legs free then grabbed Rick by the sleeve of the cardigan and pulled him closer. "I want you. If I hadn't been so stubborn we would have been in bed together the first night."

"There's a difference. I was drunk too then. And neither of us were as gone as you are right now." Rick explained. He let Stan paw and pull at him but did not reciprocate. "I'm an asshole, not a pervert. If you're too drunk to remember asking me, we aren't doing it."

He gently tried to lay Stan back down in bed. Stan looped an arm around Rick's shoulders. 

"Ya don't want me, Rick?" His other hand slid down Rick's torso very close to his crotch. Rick's hand came down over Stan's, stopping any more downward movement. He looked hard into Stan's face.

"Don't you start that sexy gas lighting shit on me. I invented that." There was no malice in Rick's voice but he was serious as he spoke "I want you. I want you so bad I can taste it. But if I kiss you, you aren't gonna be able to stop there. And you're going to wake up tomorrow not remembering any of this and me fucking you without you knowing, that is thirty-one flavors of fucked up. You get me?"

Rick brushed Stan's hair back from his forehead. A guilty look spread across Stan's face and he looked at Rick like a puppy that had been caught doing something after its master had told it no. 

"I get you." He said then added. "Thank you." 

The arm around Rick's shoulders loosened but didn't pull away nor did the hand on Rick's torso. Stan was quiet for a minute than said "Stay with me? Promise to keep my hands to myself."

Rick wanted to tell Stan no. Any time you shared a bed with someone who was drunk and horny and they used the phrase 'I'll keep my hands to myself' they never followed through. But a combination of Stan's soppy eyes and the words he had given Rick earlier made it impossible to deny him anything. Stan had thought of him every day. That thought shook Rick. 

"I'm not... not going anywhere." He assured Stan. He removed his hand from Stan's and took off his cardigan. He pushed his way with some difficulty onto the small bed and laid down. Stan lay in a heap in just his socks and boxers. There was not much room for the two of them to lay side by side, so Rick put himself flush against Stan's front, facing away. He would be lying if Stan's hand coming down over his waist didn't feel nice.

"It's for the best we didn't have sex anyway. You probably got whiskey dick." Rick added in a deadpan tone that would to the ear untrained in Rick's humor come across as serious. But Stan knew better. Laughing softly Stan nuzzled the back of Rick's neck.

"Maybe. But I don't think I'd have that problem with you around." he snuggled into Rick then sighed. He closed his eyes and felt himself slip into a drunken sleep.

"Hey, Stan?" Rick called after a moment.

"Hmm?" Stan grumbled back barely awake.

"Thanks for the pancakes." Rick told him. His hand went to close over Stan's own but he hesitated then left it on the bedspread.


	4. Part 4

At seven am the alarm buzzed loudly and Stan jerked awake. His head was pounding and waves of nausea rolled over him as he moved to turn off the clock. The other body next to his was only half a surprise. Stan had thought for a while that he had dreamed it but there was a fully clothed Rick lying in bed beside him. He looked at the other man for a moment before his head pounded and his stomach rolled. He groaned and rubbed at his temples.

Stan sat up and rubbed irritably at his eyes. Last night had been a lot. In the drinking category and the emotional one. He looked back at Rick and thought of curling back up with the other man but his stomach cramped and sloshed and Stan had to bound out of the bed and down the hall. He rushed into the half bathroom with no time to spare. Gripping the edge of the toilet bowl, Stan threw up.  When he had finally emptied his stomach Stan leaned his forehead against the cool porcelain as he panted and reached up to flushed the toilet. 

"Ugh. I'm never drinking again." He murmured as he knelt on the bathroom floor.

"All hail the porcelain god..." Rick said from the doorway. He leaned on the door jamb, cane in hand and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He looked down at Stan with a kind of subdued amusement. "Need a tums, Stud?"

Stan looked back at Rick. "How about a stomach pump instead. Ugh... What made me think I could drink the whole bottle?" He pushed himself up and leaned back against the wall. "Sorry I woke you up. Just checking, but we didn't do anything last night...right?"

Rick knew Stan's mental clock would reset itself and the previous night would be a blur. Drinking what was probably ten shots of straight bourbon could to that to you. In fact, now that Rick thought about, he was amazed Stan hadn't really hurt himself. Rick was a professional boozer and had passed out after harder benders but Stan really could've died in his sleep last night. He could have rolled right over and choked on his puke like Jimi Hendrix. The thought made Rick's own stomach turn but this hadn't been the first time Rick had put a drunk friend to bed. Rick stayed up for about two hours after Stan had passed out, monitoring the man's breathing. He had even checked Stans pulse every fifteen minutes looking for any decrease in heart rate. Only when he was satisfied that Stan was stable and asleep did Rick close his eyes, taking Stan's hand. Only to keep him on his side of course.

Rick shook his head lightly. He chuckled and leaned back on his cane, preparing to turn and go. Perhaps he would brave the stairs and head to the kitchen to fight the shitty stovetop percolator that could perhaps save Stan's life this morning.

"Nope. Both our dicks remain at their driest. I just couldn't fight that second flight of stair to the attic last night. Hope you don't mind."

He hoped to remain discreet about all the sticky vulnerable emotions he had let Stan in on last night. If Stan couldn't remember, Rick hoped to save face by not bringing them up.

"Good. Good." Stan said, distracted. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked guilty. "That was a stupid move last night. Shouldn't have been your problem, Rick."

"Eh, it happens. You took care of me when I was hurting. Consider the favor returned." Rick began to hobble across the landing toward the stairs. Stan followed Rick down the landing. He popped into his room and grabbed his tank top off the floor. He was feeling kinda exposed in just his boxers. 

"I'm kinda glad I didn't eat much yesterday." Stan grumbled as he pulled on the shirt and followed Rick.

"You need help on the stairs?" He asked cautiously. It felt odd not carrying Rick.

"It'll take a minute, but I mean I can do it. You're sick as a dog and probably still a little drunk. I don't want you to drop me." Rick chided playfully. He stopped at the top of the staircase and looked down warily. A soft smile spread across Stan's face. He slid his arm around Rick's waist. 

"Just lean on me, ok? Don't need you getting hurt worse."

Rick swallowed a troubling warm feeling pulling its way up from his chest but did as he was told, distributing his weight between Stan and the cane.

"Good to know you're over the whole 'Ricardo Sanderson' thing. Wasn't my proudest moment. Let's just say I have a lot of stupid ideas when I drink light beer." Right said. He was surprised how mild Stan was mid-hangover. Maybe Rick could bury the hatchet on all this without betraying the embarrassing moments from last night. The pair made it to the bottom of the stairs and Rick quickly pulled away to lean on his cane.

"Well, I said some stuff I didn't mean either. I was mad so I lied. I-" Whatever Stan was going to say was lost as he pressed the side of his fist against his mouth. He rushed into the bathroom and the heaving sounds that came out of the room made Rick cringe. "How am I still throwing up? I haven't eaten since yesterday morning."

Rick limped to the kitchen. He tried a few cupboards but couldn't find a glass so he settled for rinsing out the glass Stan had left on table. He filled it from the tap before heading to the bathroom. He also grabbed Stan's glasses from the kitchen table.

"Hangover puke, the gift that keeps on giving." Rick mused sardonically. He offered the cup and glasses to Stan. Stan took them from where he was sitting on the floor. 

"I think my head is gonna explode." He said before taking a cautious sip of water. Stan leaned his back against the wall, pulled up his legs and rested his arms on his knees, taking occasional sips of water. "At least you're leaving on a high note. Stan Pines knows how to send a guy off." He smiled even through his pallor.

Rick bristled at that. His own guts churned. Stan may have blacked out of the conversation last night but Rick had not. Now that the words had come out of his mouth Rick found it a lot harder to just up and ignore how he felt and for that matter how Stan felt about him. Rick didn't want to run away this time. He didn't want to ditch Stan.

"Well yeah. But, you know, my leg is still pretty sore. I could crash one more night. Get an Alka seltzer in you first. I'm not on any schedule or anything." Rick felt stupid saying it. He was certain Stan could see right through his head. He did his best to hide any eagerness beneath nasty humor "So how you feeling? You hungry? How-how about a greasy pork chop sandwich in a dirty ashtray?"

The bile rose up in Stan's throat again but he held it down. "Don't talk about ashtrays or food. My lungs are burning from that shitty cigar I smoked last night." He took another sip of water and tried to push everything back down. "You know you can stay as long as you need to, Rick. I ain't gonna toss you out with a bum leg and your face still looking mashed up." he gave Rick a cheeky smile. "You gotta hand me some Tylenol from the medicine cabinet if you're gonna stay though."

"Ok, now you're getting needy." Rick huffed jokingly but he was already opening the medicine cabinet and reading each bottle. Finding the correct bottle, he tossed it to Stan lightly. Rick felt more at ease. He had gotten away with his petty little prank scott free and things were on the cusp of being normal between him and Stan.

Stan caught the bottle and shook out two pills. A sense of deja vue slipped over him. A less hungover Stanley standing in a motel room shaking out pills into his big palm. Only that time Rick had been naked and there had been coffee. 

"Can you make coffee in a percolator?" Stan asked as he washed down the pills with the cup of water.

"I can put coffee and water into it and turn the stove on so technically yes." Rick said "Whether it's any good? That's another question entirely." 

Rick helped Stan to his feet and if he held his hand a moment too long he didn't acknowledge it.

"Come on. I'll show ya how. I've gotten pretty good at it actually." Stan brushed past Rick on the way to the kitchen. He let his shoulder rub against Rick as he passed. "If you want food your cooking for yourself though."

Rick did not make the coffee. Rather he sat at the kitchen table watching Stan shuffle back and forth on the linoleum. The coffee jumped and burbled softly in the percolator and despite his statement of not making any food, Stan made some toast for both of them. Rick slathered his in butter but when Stan started nibbling it dry, Rick screwed up his face. 

"Wait wait wait..." He said in a critical voice. Rick pulled himself to his feet and began to root around the drawers and cupboards, surveying the contents of each one. As he found each thing he was looking for, Rick would take it from the shelf and place it on the table before Stan.

First Rick took down two coffee cups and filled them with black coffee from the percolator. He left the half-empty percolator on the table and searched each canister on the counter until he found the sugar. He plunked the entire canister on the table. Next Rick found a glass jar of honey. The spice rack supplied two containers. Tumeric and cayenne powder. Finally, Rick opened the fridge and found a jar of sour dill pickles and also refilled Stan's water glass. Stan took in each item with mounting concern.

Rick took a seat with a spoon in hand. He opened the honey and coated both slices of Stan's toast with it. He deposited the honey covered spoon in his coffee cup for safe keeping. He sprinkled the spices very thinly over the toast. He gestured at the creation in a 'bon appetit' kind of way.

"The fructose in the honey competes with the alcohol so it pushes it out of your body and it'll help cope with the hypoglycemia. The tumeric's for your liver. Curcumin's an anti-inflammatory compound. Cayenne peppers have natural pain relief stimulants. It'll help you sweat out the booze too. Sip the pickle juice. Salt, electrolytes. Plus it'll get you to drink more water." He explained in a way that seemed as if he were giving a dissertation and not making a hangover cure.

"What's the sugar for?" Stan asked cautiously.

"I like my coffee sweet." Rick replied, dropping three heaping spoons into his already honeyed coffee. He pushed the black coffee toward Stan and took a sip of his own.

"Amateur..." He smiled proudly into his coffee mug. Stan looked over everything a bit skeptically but picked up a piece of toast and bit into it. 

"Mmm. Not bad." He smiled and wiped a bit of honey off the corner of his mouth with his thumb before sucking it clean. Stan took another bite. "Thank you." He said after a minute.

All Rick wanted to do at that moment was taste the earthy turmeric and the sweet honey on Stan's lips. He wanted to feel the bite of the pepper swell his kiss bruised lips. And he wanted Stan to tell him again that he thought of Rick every day. It was sudden and foolish. Rick tried to quell it by drinking his coffee, letting one sweet vice distract from another, but he could not turn his mind off. He gazed over the mug and into Stan's eyes. Stan's smile faltered when he looked back at Rick. He licked the honey off his lips and placed the toast back on the plate. 

"If we ain't gonna do anything you gotta stop looking at me like that." He picked up his coffee cup and averted his eyes downward as he added in a husky voice. "Especially after everything we said to each other last night." He sipped his coffee then looked back up at Rick. "You might forget stuff when you drink, but I don't. I'll say it's a bit fuzzy but I remember everything."

Involuntarily, Rick hissed a gasp and coffee went up his nose. He coughed violently. When his fit passed he looked up at Stan with wide eyes. There was a nakedness in his expression as if he knew Stan was going to leap across the table and strangle him.

"You, uh..." He croaked "You remember all that?"

Stan took another bite of toast then washed it down with a sip of pickle juice. He pulled a face then chased it with the coffee. 

"The end of the night is more blurry but thanks for not fucking me while I was shit faced." He gave Rick a little smile. "And thank you for staying even though I was pawing you up. I do remember everything we said here. I meant every word." He stood with his coffee in hand and walked to the door. He stopped momentarily and chuckled "And here I thought I won that round for ten years. Should've known I couldn't get anything past you, Rick." 

He turned back and smiled but his eyes were sad with just a glint of hope at the edges. He disappeared beyond the door frame as he turned away. Rick snatched up his cane and stumbled after Stan. He rounded on the man as he came out of the kitchen, cornering Stan with his back against the wallpaper. Rick put a hand on the wall beside Stan's head. He scrutinized Stan through narrowed eyes.

"You saw me tip my hand. Fuck, no point in denying it. I should tell you not to get a swelled head about it. But I said it and goddamn it, I meant it. So don't play that 'dear sad Stanford' card. I know that look and it doesn't look good on you." Rick spoke softly yet sharply.

"You think I like this? You think I like feeling this way? It's like being an addict. I've never felt high on anything the way I do with you." Stan knotted the fingers of his free hand into Rick's shirt, pulling him that much closer. "I got you out of my system but I still thought about how good you feel and how good I feel when I'm with you every single day." He looked up into Rick's eyes and it felt so freeing to finally say all of that. He wished he wasn't holding a cup of coffee right now though. "The only reason I pushed you away at first was I didn't know if I could detox from you again and survive. But your already under my skin."

Rick's heart was thumping hard and he felt his skin growing hot all over. Ten years wondering if he was the only one longing for Stan followed by a week of more or less confirmation of that fact came down with smothering realness on Rick. They had both spilled their guts and Rick, never the squeamish one, had no trouble wading through the viscera to take what they both wanted. He closed the gap, the warmth and softness of Stan's torso meeting Rick's and making him weak. He had every intention of tasting the hangover cures on Stan's lips for himself.

There was a great crash and a rumble outside. The impact was enough to make the Mystery Shack shake in its foundations and both men went tumbling to the ground. The black coffee spilled all over the floorboards. Rick knocked his head as he went down and held it in both hands a moment as he lay there. Suddenly Rick sat up, looking out into nowhere through his black eye. He wore an expression of terrified epiphany.

"Shit... They found me. I don't know how but they fucking found me." He said, hushed. Stan pushed himself up and looked at Rick. 

"They found you? You said the bad stuff wouldn't follow you here." He hauled himself to his feet and went to help Rick. "What are we dealing with here?"

"The Lybians! Who do you think?" Rick spat and attepmpted to stumble to his feet in Stan's grasp like a newborn deer. He began mumbling to himself frantically. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! I thought the weirdness waves would hold them off longer. Stupid adjacent isn't the same as stupid, Rick. Goddammit. Think, think!"

A voice that was somehow both a booming explosion and a syrupy lisp, called from the front lawn. It did not sound threatening, just firm and exasperated, like a parent telling their child to come explain who broke the vase in the parlor.

"Rick Sanchez! We know you are in there! There's no point in playing coy!"

Rick looked into Stan's face with a renewed horror and outrage.

"Gloosie..!" He snarled.

"Seriously! Who the fuck are these guys?!" Stan held Rick up as he struggled against him. "And stop trying to move around! You're gonna get hurt!"

Rick clutched Stan's shoulders as he held still at last, legs sagging beneath him.

"It's Bonparlo Fin Gloosie. He's like the Vito Corleone of Space Slugs. His boys, they were the ones that fucked me up in the first place. If he came in person to get me, he's serious." Rick told Stan urgently.

"Rick, I do not want to ask again..." came the call from outside.

"For fuck's sake! They'll turn the shack into a crater if I don't come out..." Rick said, more to himself than Stan. A light came on in Rick's brain and he looked back to Stan "The portal gun! The portal gun, it's still on the kitchen table. We'll get out of here and when, when, when they drop the phaser bomb on the building they'll think we went up with it. Come on, let's go!" 

Rick began to limp, pulling Stan along.

"No!" Stan pulled back against Rick, nearly toppling the injured man. Terror was written all over Stan's face. "If they blow up the shack, I lose the portal. There's gotta be another way." 

Stan looked around frantically as if the answer would jump out at him. Then all the pieces fell together and he looked Rick over quickly and dragged him to the door. 

"I'm sorry." He said before shoving Rick through and slamming it quickly behind him. Stan leaned his back against his door and took a deep breath then went racing up the stairs.

Rick staggered off the porch and went tumbling onto the dirt, falling on his ass. He looked up at the door in disbelief. Stan had finally shown his true colors. He had sold Rick out in favor of The Brother. All of the soft feelings Rick had been harboring for the past ten hours burned off and were replaced with fury and betrayal. He ground out an inarticulate shout of rage and started to pull himself to his feet. 

Two pairs of lumpy translucent hands took Rick by the arms and shoved him back to the ground. Rick registered the two Molluscarans only when they began dragging him across the yard. Rick flailed and jerked, fighting like a scalded cat. He spit obscenities, not discerning between the slug men handling him and the man who had thrown him out

"You son of a bitch! I'll kill you! Let me fucking go!"

One of the Molluscarans cuffed Rick across the face, leaving behind a viscous slime trail on his face. They threw Rick to the ground and deposited him at the feet, or more appropriately, long flat tail of Bonparlo Fin Gloosie. 

Gloosie was a massive creature that looked like a cross between a jellyfish and a slug. He was made of terrible lumpy rolls of semi-transparent flesh and his internal organs could be seen pulsing in various muddy colors vaguely beneath. He looked down at Rick with yellow and orange spotted eyes that glinted with an unsettling amount of intelligence. Sensory stalks sprouted above his brow and below his chin, where they waggled and tasted the air.

Rick shook the pain from his head and looked up at Gloosie with undisguised contempt. He could see just behind and to the right of Gloosie another slug, coolly waiting for orders. Rick knew he was outnumbered but four against one were particularly dire odds when the enemies were so large and Rick was injured. Beyond the tableau the man and slugs created was a large and rather gaudy looking spacecraft that was equal parts limo and stainless steel tank. A very large gun with a Tesla coil barrel was mounted on the back.

Gloosie's too wide mouth unfurled in a smile long enough to slice his head in two. His yellow teeth were square and flat like paving stones.

"So nice to see you, Mr. Sanchez." He said.

"Get bent, Gloosie." Rick replied, in a parody of civil pleasantries. Gloosie's courteous smile changed into that of fatherly concern and he said nothing but flicked his eyes up to one of the two Molluscaran guards. He understood the silent command and brought the butt of his rather impressive ray gun down on Rick's neck. Rick grunted and collapsed back into the dirt. 

"You're about as eloquent as I've been told." Gloosie said, mildly "That being said, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Gloosie waited patiently as Rick reeled then pushed himself up on his hands and knees. Rick looked up at the Molluscaran, dirt clinging to mucus on his arms and face. His mind was working at a million miles an hour but Rick had no plan. He was outnumbered,  unarmed, injured and worst of all abandoned by the only person in the multiverse he thought he could trust. Still, Rick refused to go down kowtowing to an intergalactic garden pest.

"You mean aside from the whole 'get bent' thing? Cause man, I could go on, you Jabba the Hut, Fu Manchu looking asshole." Rick said through a sickly smile.

Gloosie sighed, once again with that face of a concerned parent and the guards set to work on Rick. Rick grunted and shouted as the blows from fists and massive muscled tails came down on him. When they finally let up Rick remained curled up holding his sides in case the two guards came for him again. Gloosie leaned over Rick, blocking the morning sun and casting Rick in shadow.

"You really don't have to be so defensive. I just thought I would be kind enough to hear your side of the little incident." He said in lisping velvet tones.

"Oh, you mean before you splatter my brains all over the lawn?" Rick answered, looking up through one black eye. His gaze was wild and dangerous as if Rick would launch himself at Gloosie if he only had the strength to do so. "Well isn't that just the sweetest thing coming from raping, exploitative scum like you?"

"I'm getting very tired of your mouth, Mr. Sanchez." Gloosie's upper stalks drooped in a vexed way. Rick sat up and a runnel of blood gave up the struggle against gravity and trickled out of his nose and down his chin.

"That's not what your mom said last night!" He said nastily. Rick could have been part shark for as sharp as his smile was. The third guard took a step forward to deal with Rick, but Gloosie lifted a hand to stop him. Gloosie himself took Rick by the arm and pulled him up to look him in the eye. With the Molluscaran's impressive height, Rick's feet brushed the ground, scraping up dirt. Rick struggled, gasping in pain. Gloosie had grabbed Rick by his injured arm.

"I'm beginning to think that coming here myself was a mistake. Your reputation precedes you and I was intrigued to meet the so called super genius that could cause so much trouble so quickly but I suppose my faith in what you'd be like was misplaced. You're nothing but a crass little child." He said to Rick in a soft contemplative tone. Rick ignored him, opting to instead call over his shoulder, back at the house.

"I don't deserve this, Stan! They aren't playing around! This is serious!" There was no answer and Gloosie continued to speak, sharper now that he felt he was being ignored.

"If you are unwilling to participate, Mr. Sanchez, I believe our conversation is done before it even began." Gloosie dropped Rick to the dirt, where Rick scrambled to turn over on his belly and crawl toward the shack. He struggled against the two guards who held him back and pulled him to his knees. He continued to shout out, more frenzied and desperate. Rick didn't know what Stan was going to do against four eight foot space slugs, but he had no other choice.

"Stan! Don't you get it?! They aren't going to just break my leg this time! They are going to shoot me! Are you really gonna let them kill me?! You motherfucker, if you're ever going to anything noble in your sad little life, get out here and do it now! You want to be a hero?!! Do it for someone who actually cares about you, goddamit!!" He screamed. Again there was no answer. Rick shook in anger and frustration and crushing despair.

"Turn him around." Gloosie ordered dispassionately. Rick strained and fought the Molluscarans as they turned him to face Gloosie. They held his arms out to the sides, crucifixion like.

"Wanna look me in the eye when you fuck me!? Man, you _are_ like your mother!" Rick barked, petty even in the midst of certain death. Tears of frustration stung his eyes but Rick held them back. All of Rick's blood would rain onto the grass before he'd let a single tear water it in front of these bastards.

Gloosie did not acknowledge Rick's words but just took the ray gun offered to him by the guard beside him and slithered to Rick. He pressed the bulb at the end of the chrome barrel to Rick's forehead. Rick did not close his eyes and even pressed back against the gun, one last suicidal dare. Rick Sanchez would die heartbroken and on his knees but he refused to die a coward.

The baseball bat that slammed into first the Molluscaran on Rick's left then suddenly battered back into the one on Rick's right was a surprise to everyone there. 

"The _fuck_ is going on out here on my front _fucking lawn_!!?" Stan bellowed. He stepped over one of the thugs as he lay prone on the ground. He stood tall with his shoulders squared in a black suit. The top two buttons of his dress suit were undone, showing off an impressive amount of chest hair and his gold necklace. On each hand was a set of brass knuckles and in one hand he held a baseball bat that now dripped with slime. Stan from top to toe looked like a mob boss from the movies. Stan scowled in Gloosie's direction and nodded his head in acknowledgment. 

"You in charge of these goons?" Stan's New Jersey accent was out in force like he hadn't left over twenty years ago. "You wanna explain why you're beating the shit out of one of my guys and bringing all this attention to my business?"

Rick looked up at Stan in awe. He couldn't see him clearly from behind with the sun in his eyes but all Rick knew was that the two Molluscaran restraining him were currently on the ground moaning, one holding a particularly juicy looking head injury and Stan was standing between him and one of the galaxy's more terrifying organized crime lords.

Gloosie and his remaining guard both pointed their weapons at Stan, but when Stan refused to flinch, Gloosie lowered his if only slightly.

"Are you saying that Mr. Sanchez works for you?" Gloosie asked suspiciously. He looked around Stan at Rick a moment then back at the man before him. He seemed to size Stan up before lowering his gun and putting out a hand to signal his guard to do the same. "I was informed that he worked alone but perhaps my sources were... misinformed."

Gloosie punctuated that last word with a pointed sideways look at the goon beside him, who lowered his gaze immediately. Gloosie returned his attention to Stan, speaking with a puffed up imperious air.

"My name is Bonparlo Fin Gloosie. I am the premiere executive amongst Molluscara Beta's...more selective businesses. I'm currently dealing with Mr. Sanchez's earlier... indiscretion, which I certainly hope you had no hand in." Gloosie's tone was courteous, cold and perhaps distantly threatening.

Stan slid a hand into one of his pants pockets and he leaned on the baseball bat as if it were a cane at his side. He listened with a stern but unimpressed look on his face. He shrugged one shoulder. 

"Infinite universes. Infinite Ricks. Sanchez here works for me as a weapons guy. I think he enjoys the safety my family affords him. Though the way he ran his mouth a minute ago he may not be as safe as he thought." Stan snarled the last part over his shoulder at Rick but tossed him a hidden wink. He turned back to the slug. "Stanford Pines. Pines Family Unlimited. I can assure you I don't know what Sanchez did. He showed up a week ago with the shit beat out of him. I assumed he slept with the wrong guy's wife again and this time the guy caught up with him." Stan spoke as if Rick were his dog that had dug up the neighbor's rose bush. Gloosie looked civil yet unimpressed. 

"I assure you, this is the Rick Sanchez we are looking for. His brain signatures confirm as much. Mr. Pines, I don't believe you understand the magnitude of what your... boy has done. His tampering with my business ventures resulted in the destruction of one of my largest lineage suites as well as deaths and injuries of many of my employees and clientele. Not to mention a substantial loss of my product." He explained.

"Oh fuck you!!" Rick shouted. He took Stan by the sleeve in an attempt to stand. "That is absolute bullshit! I saved over a hundred women from your breeding warehouse, you single lunged fuck!"

Stan shook Rick off roughly and wheeled on him

"Hey! That's enough outta you!" He pressed the end of the baseball bat against Rick's chest and pressed gently. "I give you a lotta fucking leeway around here cause you're damn good with guns but you've been running your mouth a hell of a lot lately! You get a lot of freedom cause I know Ricks need that but if I have to, I'll tighten your leash so hard you'll choke on it! " Stan gave Rick a quick apologetic look before sliding the mob boss facade back into place. 

"Now." He said more calmly sliding the bat up Rick's sternum and under his chin so as to tilt his chin up. "What exactly did you do that I need to punish you for?"

Rick closed his eyes and swallowed audibly. His Adam's apple bobbed against the rough wood of the bat. He was caught between relief, confusion and genuine fear of Stan's powerful front. He hoped his expression was neutral. Stan had said he was a con man but Rick had no idea how deep into character he could get before seeing it in action himself. Good Guy Stanford letting his bruiser side truly take center stage planted a seed of desire in Rick despite the situation.

Rick spoke quickly and meekly, affecting the role of an underling who answered when his boss snapped his fingers. He was unaware of how much of the tremor in his voice really was acting.

"I did blow up the high rise, boss. Permission to speak freely on my actions?" Rick didn't open his eyes, just sat there with his fists clenched in his lap waiting for Stan's answer. He wasn't sure how  Gloosie would react to his side of the story but he had to trust Stan could get him out of it. Stan blinked a couple of times at Rick's submissive attitude but pulled himself together. He slowly dropped the bat from Rick's chin.

"Finally! A little fucking respect from you, Sanchez." He turned a bit to look at the mob boss behind him "Gonna have to thank you for beating a little sense into him." He laughed a bit and turned back to Rick. "Well go on. Don't waste any more of our time."

Rick looked down at the ground, unsure if he'd be able to keep up the act if he were looking at Stan. Rick's words were cold and to the point. 

"Inheritance laws on Molluscara Beta are strictly patriarchal. Naturally, that means male heirs are highly valued but not all females are fit for breeding. Hermaphrodital genitalia leaves all but two percent of the quote-unquote female population sterile. That, adding to the fact that breeding females can gestate every ninety days or so, has made way for a socially acceptable system of rape, prostitution and child trafficking amongst the ultra rich. His Lineage Suites are nothing but whore houses filled with unwilling females of breeding stock forced to become literal baby machines." Rick did not shift his gaze to Stan but saw his feet move as he changed his weight, perhaps involuntarily taking a step towards Gloosie. Rick prayed Stan not go soft now. If he looked into the slug's face and betray an emotion of weakness at this new information, they were as good as dead. As Rick continued he wanted to get heated but fought the urge, trying to get the words out as swiftly as possible. 

"Nonbreeding female babies are disposed of, males are taken away to be raised by their rapist fathers -" Rick's voice ground out hard at that a moment before getting himself under control "- and, well, I'm sure you can imagine what happens to females fit for breeding. When I found out about all this my temper got the best of me and I destroyed a multi-level breeding suite and yes, I'm sure I hurt some high profile patrons and breeding masters but I set hundreds of breeder slaves free! You know I've got a little girl of my own and... Those girls were somebody's daughters, okay?"

Rick let that hang in the air a moment, collecting himself against his anger. He looked at Gloosie a moment but then away when he saw the animosity in his spotted eyes. Instead, he looked up at Stan's, pleading with all the sincerity in his being.

"I fucked up, boss. I fucked up bad." He croaked "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Sanchez..." Stan said in a long suffering sort of way. Inside his heart thumped in his chest. The way Rick asked Stan's forgiveness almost felt real. Stan was disgusted with this alien thing standing behind him but if he was going to get them out of this alive he had to keep the game going. "Sanchez, you are going to get exactly what's coming to you." 

Stan turned back to the slug with a sympathetic look on his face.

"Mr. Gloosie, I am so very sorry for what my man here has done to your business. I know you're mad and you want retribution but I'm gonna ask you kindly to let me handle Sanchez's discipline in house."

Gloosie's stalks undulated and the hand holding the blaster twitched just so slightly.

"While I do respect your intentions to keep your misbehaving children in line, I must remind you that in addition to the profits I lost, I was wronged personally by Mr. Sanchez's outlook on my perfectly legitimate business." Gloosie's tone was tight and bordering on impatient "I need to know you won't let him go with a slap on the wrist. You must admit keeping someone like him around is, dare I say, a liability and that's being kind. So just let me have him. If anything I'm doing you a favor."

Stan smiled in a friendly way but there was something in his eyes that warned the beholder not to mess with him. 

"Sir, I absolutely understand your frustration and if I've portrayed myself as a pushover I deeply apologize for that but I can't give you Sanchez. I need him. Never had a guy this good at arming my crew." He leaned in close to Gloosie. His smile was sick and mean. "How about this? Sanchez doesn't need legs to work for me. I've got a pretty good surgeon who ain't squeamish. I'll let Sanchez watch as his own legs are amputated. Clipping his wings and sticking him in a cage is far worse than killing him. He didn't seem scared when you had that gun to his head, did he? " Stan smiled knowingly.

Rick blanched when he heard Stan's suggestion. Rick noted Gloosie watching him and the small smile slowly unzipping across his face. Rick knew Stan had no intention of carrying any of those plans out, but Stan's conviction was unsettling. He was reminded of Kathy Bates hobbling James Caan with a sledgehammer in "Misery" and thought of his earlier paranoia for just a split second as real. Rick decided to use his unease as motivation. He crawled up to Stan and pulled at the hem of his jacket dramatically as if he were trying to climb Stan.

"Boss, no! You can't do that! That's breaking like sixteen different planet's Geneva conventions!" He wheezed in a panic. He prayed he was reacting as Gloosie hoped he would. Stan gave Gloosie another long suffering but friendly look then grabbed Rick by the hair and growled in his face. 

"You think begging's gonna work? Did it help Johnny when he said he was going to the feds? No. I took his tongue out myself and I made you all watch." Stan turned back to the empty house. "Just like I'm gonna make you watch when I cut off a finger from the asshole that tossed Sanchez out here without my say so!!" His face was red and full of anger but he had to sell the idea that the shack was full of guys armed to the teeth. He took a deep breath and turned back to the giant slug. "What do you say Mr. Gloosie? I promise if I handle this in house Sanchez won't bother you again."

Gloosie took one look at Rick clutching at Stan, blubbering and was sold.

"I admire your policy, Mr. Pines. This could almost be worth losing that lineage suite. Forgive me for intruding." He said pleasantly. Stan smiled and pushed Rick away hard.

"Thank you so much, Sir. You have no idea how important it is to me to keep my men in line myself." His smile turned a bit sinister. "I will ask you a courtesy in the future Mr. Gloosie, one businessman to another. Leave any Ricks you happen to come by alone. If this one gives me a hard time I might have to toss him out for a better model. Rick Sanchez is now under the protection of Stanford Pines." He nodded a curt goodbye and snagged Rick by the back of his collar and began dragging him back to the shack. "Time to pay the piper, Sanchez."

Rick was absolutely stunned. He had no idea how this plan had actually worked. Stan; overweight, soft hearted, timid little homo Stan Pines had just gone toe to toe in negotiations with a career rapist and baby killer over Rick's very life and had emerged spotless.

Rick watched Gloosie as Stan pulled him toward the porch. He saw a look of absolute soul crushing mean spirited success on Gloosie's face as he motioned for his guard to pick up his fallen comrades then turned on his muscular tail to slither back to his space ship. It was the expression of a man who held the world in his hand and knew exactly how easy it was to squash the bugs on its surface. Rick could have laughed out loud and he almost did but managed to hide it in a shriek of terror that bordered on melodramatic. He thrashed, kicking up clouds of dirt and ropes of slug slime. He was so over the top that Gloosie, the right-hand man and even the semi-conscious guard he was helping to stand all turned to look a moment longer. Rick did his best to sell the wailing.

"Please boss! Please! Have a heart! Don't do it!!" He cried, turning each thump to his ass as Rick ascended the porch steps into a ragged sob.

"Stop acting like a fucking baby and take it like a man." Stan growled, giving Rick a little shake as he pulled him up the steps. It was all starting to sink in what he had just done and he was trying his best not to pass out from fright and Rick's performance wasn't helping. He tossed Rick through the door and yelled: "Now which one of you mother fuckers is gonna lose a finger?"

He stepped through and shut the door behind him before immediately falling to his knees before Rick and kissing him as hard as he could. The slam of the door and the clatter of the baseball bat on the floor were the only warnings Rick got before he felt the warm metal of Stan's brass knuckles on his cheeks, not in a punch but soft caress, a touch they had never been used for before, pulling him in.

"Holy fucking shit! Jesus Christ! Are you ok?" He asked between kisses. "I'm sorry, Rick! I'm so sorry!" He kissed Rick over and over fearful that if he stopped that the other man might disappear. The loud boom shook the shack once again and both men nearly tumbled over. The kiss took Rick's breath away. He was not expecting it and his whole body shook as the anxiety palpitated hard a moment longer then began to fade, now knowing the danger had passed.

"Don't be sorry! You saved my goddamn life! That- that was amazing!" Rick exclaimed and he laughed snidely a moment before it was smothered by Stan's lips again. Rick's hands went to Stan's lapels, pulling the man closer into Rick's half laying position.

"You were so fucking hot! Where did you learn that?!" He panted, ecstatically Stan pushed the brass knuckles off and dropped them on the floor with a thunk.

"Worked for a psycho like that once." Stan said pushing Rick down onto the floor and sliding his hands under Rick's shirt. He knew he should be looking for injuries in the other man but he couldn't stop kissing him. Rick was warm and alive and here and he needed him. Stan kneeled between the other man's legs and said against his lips "Are you hurt?" 

Stan's big hands explored the chest and torso under him, the undershirt bunched under Rick's arms. Rick was smiling ear to ear. He felt downright giddy. His hands fumbled, getting caught in the folds of Stan's coat and sliding through Stan's chest hair to coil at the nape of his neck. Rick's kisses were shallow but plentiful, breaking away to speak only as long as he could stand to be part from Stan.

"A little dirt. A little slime. Nothing.... nothing you can't patch up, boss." He said, cataloging the new nickname into the many things that were now uniquely Stan.

Stan laughed at the sound of the nickname. He pulled away and shook off his jacket. His hands came back down to land on Rick's waistband of his pants. His eyes searched Rick's face as he felt the mood change. He kissed Rick slow and deep, his tongue sliding into Rick's mouth as his hands undid the button and pulled down the zipper.

Rick drank in the kiss like a man dying of thirst at a desert oasis. He inhaled through his nose, breathing in Stan's scent. Spilled coffee, the mothballs of the presumably long unworn black suit and the bloodlike metallic twinge left behind from the brass knuckles on Stan's hands. Rick remembered reading somewhere that metal itself didn't have a scent. Rather it was a chemical reaction that caused body oils on the skin to decompose in response to iron and zinc when handled. In reality, it was just another facet of Stan's natural scent, reminding him that they were both alive.

Rick lifted his hips to help Stan pull his slacks off. He pulled at Stan's dress shirt, untucking it and struggling to undo the buttons. His hands slid over Stan's chest and stomach trying to memorize the topography by touch alone. Stan's hands moved to his own pants and he paused. He pulled away just slightly.

"Tell me to stop." He said softly. Rick looked into Stan's eyes, out of breath. He looked back at the man's lips, hypnotized. His whole body sang with want.

"No." He whispered and pulled Stan in for another bruising kiss. Stan kissed back. He was half hard and the feel of Rick's skin against his was maddening. He pulled away and put two fingers in his mouth. Once they were wet enough he removed them and kissed Rick again. His hand slid between them and pressed his fingers against Rick's hole. He cradled the back of Rick's head as he pushed the first finger inside.

Rick gasped into Stan's mouth which melted into a moan. His tongue slid across Stan's teeth and the inside of his mouth. His want was exhilarating and different from the previous time they had prepared to have sex. This was without pretense. It was raw and real. Rick pushed back onto Stan's fingers, keening in the back of his throat when Stan added a second.

That sound. The sound of Rick's pleasure was enough to make Stan fully hard. That was the sound he had made in the motel room high on stardust. Now Rick was sober and under him and alive and Stan had to have him. Stan fingered Rick, feeling him loosen up as he ground himself against Rick. He moaned softly into Rick's mouth.

Rick rocked his hips into Stan's touch. Rick forgot all about the past week. The posturing and power plays had been pointless when Rick realized all he had wanted was for Stan to kiss him like this again. To make him insane with desire and go mad with him. Rick kissed Stan's jaw and throat and felt Stan's pulse under his lips. Thick fingers tangled in Rick's hair as he moaned. Stan loved how Rick's mouth felt on him and it had been too long and they had both been too stupid. 

"Fuck, Rick! You ready?"

"God, yeah I am." Rick replied. Rick arched when Stan hit a sweet spot inside him. A crook of those big fingers at just the right angle and fireworks went off behind Rick's eyes. The noise Rick made as Stan moved his fingers was more than he could take. He pulled his fingers free, undid his pants and pushed them and his boxers down. Rick hooked his good leg around Stan's hip and held the man's face in his hands.

"Been ready for years now." He breathed against Stan's lips. It sounded needy but Rick didn't care. It was the truth. Rick kissed Stan wantonly, teeth grazing his lower lip. Stan kissed back passionately.

On the list of Rick's vices, pride and lust were often neck and neck but today it was lust that broke the tape over the finish line. Lust holding hands with relief. Relief that he wasn't so much chum on the Mystery Shack lawn and relief that it had been Stan who had come to his aid, against all reason and sanity. Relief that Stan's heroics had not gotten them both killed and that he was the one in Rick's arms now. 

Stan spit in his palm before rubbing it over his cock, slicking himself with saliva and precum. Holding the base of his erection, Stan guided himself into Rick with a guttural moan. They fit together perfectly and Stan knew that was cliche but there was no other way to describe it. He leaned his forehead against Rick's and started thrusting slowly, one hand still in Rick's hair, the other sliding down his thigh to grab a slim hip.

Rick cried out breathily when Stan pushed into him. He undulated his spine like a snake coming in to meet Stan's movements and match his rhythm. He wanted to go faster and after this week of blue balls and unpleasant emotions, he didn't think anyone would blame him but right now the soothing rise and fall of their bodies just felt so good. The friction was slow, luscious and strong like honey and spices. It churned in Rick, making his pulse flutter. He softly hooked his long fingers over Stan's wrist and rolled his hips, puffing hot breath.

Stan kissed Rick deep and unhurried, gripping his hip tighter and rolling into him as Stan tasted the other man's mouth. He groaned. Rick was perfect in every way. Warm and giving as he'd never been in the past. Stan knew his addiction was stronger than ever.

Rick tangled his long fingers into Stan's dress shirt, hot and damp under his fingers and pulled. He threw back his head, breaking the kiss to moan wildly. Rick's head was spinning. They had just laughed in the face of death and survived and the adrenaline was draining from him, leaving his fingers prickling and all his nerves smoldering. His body bowed, pressing against Stan chest to chest. His breath came in hitching gasps and it made his skin sting. It was the new beating he had taken, making itself known. There were already tender spots Rick could feel protesting his twisting. By morning they would bloom into purple bruises all over his frame, but Rick would relish each one. His body would be his and Stan's victory garden, teeming with violets.

Stan couldn't keep the slow pace any longer. Rick was too perfect. Too tight. Too amazing as his hands moved from Rick's body to brace himself against the floor so he could thrust harder and faster, Rick's sex pressed between them as Stan moaned and kissed Rick's long neck. A deep growl grew slowly louder deep in his chest as he thrust faster and harder. More frantic and less rhythmic. Needing to be part of this man who made him feel like he could take on the universe to keep him safe.

Rick shivered at the touch of Stan's lips on his neck and tilted his head to give the man more access. He grit his teeth and hummed a low sound of bliss. His arms wrapped around Stan's back, taking fistfuls of Stan's shirt and holding on for the ride. The rub of Stan's chest on Rick's own was heady, the wiry hair and hot skin stimulating Rick's nipples to delicious hardness.

"I've thought of this...mmm, for a decade." Stan moaned in Rick's ear. One of those big hands coming up to cradle the side of Rick's face. "None of it compares to you. Ooooh! Ah, Rick!" He thrust harder, his hot breath brushing against Rick's ear.

Rick moaned back an overwhelmed "Mmhmm..." nodding his head and unable to respond any further in his brain-addling ecstasy. His legs wrapped around Stan's waist, panting and pushing back. Stan tilted Rick's face and kissed him, his hips pumping furiously, sweat making his shirt stick to his back as he strained against Rick. He growled into Rick's mouth and moved his other hand to wrap around Rick's cock, stroking him hard and fast.

The direct touch of Stan's hand and the slip of his tongue against Rick's own was fierce and sensual and Rick clung to Stan, unable to move and letting Stan manipulate his body toward cresting completion. It was a deep and heavy feeing that made Rick's muscles tense and he shook all over. He could only focus on the incredible sensation, forgetting to even breath for what felt like a heavenly eternity. Finally, after tottering on the cusp of fulfillment, Rick gasped deeply, opening the floodgates to a drawn out Earth shattering orgasm, ripping panting cries from his throat.

Stan growled and threw his head back. He thrust hard into Rick's tightening body. He looked down at Rick through lust-hazed eyes and the fact that he, Stanley pines, made Rick Sanchez sound and look like that was so heady it pushed him over the edge. He moaned loud and low and released the sexual tension and wanting deep inside of Rick. He panted as his hips twitched. Leaning down, he kissed Rick soft and slow. Rick kissed back, not closing his eyes but leaving them half-lidded as if he were trying to watch Stan even though he was too close to see. His body finally began to relax, limbs falling away from his death hold on Stan. Stan broke the kiss and rested his forehead on the floor beside Rick's head.

Rick huffed, stopping to swallow thickly, before beginning to catch his breath, though it was still audible. He stared at the ceiling, enjoying the soft press and swell of Stan's body breathing on top of him. It was as if their mingling breath was the only sound for miles. Rick was the one to break the silence, hoarse and soft.

"I think... I think I should stay a few more weeks. To make sure I'm healed up." He said sounding as offhand as possible. "If that's ok with you."

Stan huffed a laugh. "You know you can stay as long as you want." He panted as he started to sit up. "I ain't really gonna take off your legs so you're free as a bird, lover boy." He kissed Rick's cheek and patted the other man's thigh. "lemme go so I can get you in a bath. You're covered in slime again. And so am I."


	5. Part 5

The bath had been nice. Stan had filled the steamy water with Epsom salts and when Rick asked what a brute like Stan was doing with bath salt, Stan explained that when he used to box he had met a lot of trainers and managers who swore by everything for sore muscles from ice packs to rubbing coffee grounds into the skin. One fighter tried to convince Stan that jizzing in his post workout bath would allow zinc and testosterone to be absorbed back into his skin but Stan had opted to keep it simple and the Epsom salts had been the additive of choice his mother had turned to the many (many, many) times Stan and his brother had come home bruised and battered after defending themselves from bullies growing up. It had never done him wrong. Rick noted to himself how once again Stan took comfort in things that reminded him of family.

When Rick felt he had soaked long enough, Stan limped him not to the attic but to his own room, where he had set out more of The Brother's clothes for Rick to wear. Stan left the room and a few minutes later Rick heard the hiss of the shower. Rick carefully pulled on the light blue dress shirt and khakis, grumbling that he was being forced to wear khakis in the first place. Stan came into the room with a towel around his waist and drying his hair with a smaller towel. He looked Rick over quickly from where he sat on Stan's bed and made a face. 

"Blue looks good on you but those clothes don't." He commented taking in the too short sleeves and pant legs. "Lemme get dressed and we'll head into town and get you some clothes. That sound ok to you?"

"Town?" Rick asked, surprised "You're going to take me down from my tower into civilization? "

Rick stood and limped over to Stan. He playfully took Stan's chin in his hand and fixed him with a mock scandalized look.

"I'm not going to cramp your style, Mr. Mystery?" Rick asked, remembering the name he had heard Stan introduce himself as from the attic every hour on the hour. Stan smirked and wrapped an arm around Rick's waist.

"You were never my prisoner, lover boy. I fucked up and was trying to keep you away and I know that was dumb now." The towel rested around Stan's shoulders and his free hand came to rest on Rick's hip.

"And town darling, Mr. Mystery, has too much style for even you to cramp." He wiggled his eyebrows in a playful way as he looked up at Rick. He missed this. The snarky banter and close contact.

"If you don't like these clothes on me, maybe you should just take them off."  Rick couldn't help himself.  His hand traveled down to the edge of Stan's towel. The opportunity to just give it a hard yank tempted him.

"As tempting as that is, my head is pounding and I still feel like I could boot. If it wasn't for the adrenaline I don't think we would have been fucking on the floor." Stan leaned in closer. "I'll take you to the diner for lunch too."

"Hmm, spoilsport...." Rick said in a voice sweet and dark like molasses. The mention of food did make him perk up.

"...Pancakes?" He asked coyly. Stan chuckled. 

"Yeah. They have pancakes. Not as good as mine but still good." Stan tilted his head a little and leaned up for a kiss.

"Oo, I love it when you talk dirty..." Rick joked. He leaned in to take Stan's lips but stopped when the loud gurgle of his stomach made itself known. He hissed a laugh through his teeth and pulled back to hobble out of the room. "I'll get my coat."

Stan smiled after Rick. He wondered vaguely how long he was going to get to keep Rick this time. He hoped it wouldn't end in a fight again. How long would it be until Rick came back? Stan supposed it wasn't worth dwelling on how it would end and just enjoy what time they had together.

Stan drove Rick into town and decided that with Rick's tastes the local clothing store might have been a bit too woodsy for him. So he pulled up to a consignment shop called "Saks Thrift Avenue" just off of Main street. Rick rubbed his hands together briskly as he saw the sign through the window.

"Cheap and used. Just how I like it." He joked, before struggling out of the passenger's side door.

Rick at once went to the section with jeans, a stormy bay of denim in many shades of blue. He settled on a few pairs, presumably well loved by local miners and woodsmen based on the small tears and strategic areas of fading on the ass and thighs with years of use. He dove into the bin of t-shirts, shifting through tops advertising fun runs and local businesses as if panning for gold in a muddy river.

Watching Rick excitedly dig through the bin of old t-shirts was the highlight of Stan's week. It was Rick's passion that always drew him in. Stan was happy to hold Rick's jeans and let Rick show off all the shirts he found, only interjecting when a "Neonville" shirt came up. Stan refused to let Rick buy the shirt for the nearby Oregonian roadside attraction saying that he didn't care how amazing and overdone the lightning tiger on it was, Stan would consider it treason against The Mystery Shack. Rick finally settled on a small pile of what he thought were his best options, including a Jethro Tull shirt (Stan didn't know if Rick's enthusiasm for it was ironic or sincere) one for the Gravity Falls High School athletic department that said "Go Beavers!" In big white letters on the back that Rick's more childish sense of humor adored and a black T-shirt with the logo for the Pontiac Firebird because "that seems like something that would go over big around here." He gave no reasonings to the shirt adorned with cherubs each holding bingo cards and the legend "If there's no bingo in heaven, I'm not going" except to laugh uncontrollably and add it onto the pile.

Stan greeted the cashier, the oldest daughter of the family that owned the shop, while Rick dug through the excessive amount of flannel in the shop. She rang him up and bagged up the clothes and Stan noticed how the girl kept looking at the tall strange man. Stan was ready for it and was curious how fast the lie would spread in the little town. 

Explaining in an off-handed way, Stan told the teen Rick was his friend Ricardo Sanderson who had gotten in a car accident while coming to visit Gravity Falls. Poor thing had lost everything in the crash. The teen seemed sympathetic and even told Rick to feel better soon as they left the shop. The tall man looked at the girl like he couldn't identify what species she was and did really care to. He waved her off as he hobbled out of the store behind a smirking Stan.

Rick changed into the Firebird t-shirt in the car and tied his jacket around his waist. They pulled up to the diner and Stan parked the car. 

"Come on. But I warn you, the people in this town are kinda weird." He climbed out of the car and started walking in. Rick swung his legs out of the car and laboriously lifted himself from the seat.

"I assure you, I've seen weirder." He said. He didn't take Stan's discreetly offered hand when they got to the steps leading in, but it didn't seem to be out of ego. Stan wondered if that was Rick's contribution to keeping Stan's reputation strictly hetero. Rick followed Stan in and gave Greasy's a long once-over.

"Well look who it is! The Man of Mystery himself. Oh! And you brought a friend!" Lazy Susan said from behind the counter as she lifted a small pot of coffee. "There's a booth over there with your name on it." 

She motioned down the row of booths then went back to refreshing the cups of the patrons sitting in front of her. Stan smiled at her then turned to Rick. 

"Told you I'm the town darling." He smirked and walked back to the booth. Rick limped after Stan and sat down in the booth.

"One lady recognizes you at the only diner in town. Yup... darling." He said, not unkindly.

"You've seen the town now. It's not big. Half of them are closing up the logging camps for the season. Right now Susan represents the majority of the town and she's my biggest fan." Stan explained laughing a bit. He got comfortable in the booth, one arm resting along the backrest. "Wait till you see all the loggers come back into town. By Pioneer Day the town is packed and we're deep into tourist season. That's when I really shine. " The mention of Pioneer Day brought a small sneer to Stan's face but the word tourist seemed to wash the bad taste out of his mouth. 

"So Stan, where ya been?" Susan asked as she came up to the table. "Haven't seen you in a few weeks." 

Stan smiled at the large woman all dressed in pink. "There's my ray of sunshine." Stan said in a friendly way. "Been busy with the shack. Prepping for the tourists. I always tell them to come in here for the best meal in town." 

Susan laughed and tapped Stan playfully on the shoulder. "Silly man!" She turned to Rick.

"And who's your friend? Oh! We match!" Lazy Susan pointed from her lazy eye to Rick's black eye and laughed. Stan cringed a bit as he wasn't sure how Rick would react to that. Rick gave what could've been a one-note laugh, coming out of a smile like a piranha as a single "Heh".

"Susan, this is Ricardo. He's an old friend of mine. Got into a car accident on the trip up."

Rick fixed Susan with a look that said butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"Yup, let me tell you it was terrifying. Whole car went up in flames, I lost everything. If Stan hadn't been there to pull me from the twisted burning wreckage, well... I don't know if I'd be here getting to speak to, ah, such a vision as yourself." He spoke with an alarming amount of finesse. Susan blushed and giggled with all the delicate nature of an oncoming train car.

"Oh, you men! You're terrible!" Susan finally managed "What are you having?"

He rested his chin in his hand and his manner reminded Stan of Jack Nicholson, both predatory and oozing charisma.

"Do you have any beer, kitten?" He asked. When Susan once again began to trip over herself in schoolgirl delight, Rick leaned forward and put his hand on her forearm, chuckling lightly himself. "You know what, why don't you go in the back and check and while you're at it bring me a stack of French toast and a steak. Rare enough it could pull up a chair next to me and talk about the playoffs. That's a doll." 

Rick sat back as Susan scurried off, not even taking Stan's order.

"I'm feeling out Ricardo as a character. I think he's a bit of a cad. What do you think? Yes? No? Give me notes, I'm not afraid to learn." He smiled wickedly. Stan was speechless for a moment. 

"Who the hell are you?" He said after a moment laughing "You are ridiculous. So Rick likes pancakes but Ricardo likes French toast?"

"Ricardo is very worldly." Rick interjected wisely.

"Didn't know you were gonna be a method actor or I'd have said you were a monk who took a vow of silence." Stan laughed. He gave the other man a soft look before continuing. "You're gonna be disappointed. Greasy's doesn't serve alcohol." 

"Look what I found! Bam!" Susan proclaimed as she placed a bottle of beer in front of Rick. Stan couldn't believe what he was looking at. In all the years he had been coming to the diner he had never been able to convince Susan to serve alcohol. Rick was the picture of surprise and delight. He placed a hand over his heart and looked at the beer as if Susan had just done a magic trick.

"Susan! Light of my life, fire of my loins, you are truly heaven sent!" Rick told her, the charm dripping from his pores. Susan nudged Rick's shoulder. 

"Don't you tell anybody though. Wink!" Lazy Susan winked her lazy eye.

"Not a soul. My lips are sealed, you little minx!" Rick and Susan laughed heartily and Rick looked at Stan as he did so, nodding his head in an all too knowing way. Susan turned to Stan. 

"What did you want, Stan?"

"Coffee?" he said still in awe. "And toast?" 

Susan walked off while smiling at Rick. Rick waved goodbye and wrinkled his nose playfully.

"You really are a fucking alien." Stan accused still in awe.

"No, I don't think we met. I'm Ricardo Sanderson, town darling." Rick held out his hand across the table for Stan to shake but slapped it against the table making the cutlery clatter as he broke character "Ha! Thank you, thank you..."

Rick pulled his flask from his coat then handed the beer across to Stan. He spoke in his inviting Ricardo Sanderson tone again.

"My spoils of war go to you. The least I can do for the man who pulled me from a flaming car wreck." He uncapped his flask and held it out for Stan to toast his drink against his. Stan picked up the beer and looked at it as a smile spread across his face. He looked up at Rick. Maybe, just maybe he could keep Rick for longer than he thought. He clinked the bottle against Rick's flask. 

"To Ricardo Sanderson, Town darling." He took a sip of the beer still smiling. Rick sipped from his flask. It was like a gift from God burning its way down his throat. He rolled his eyes back in his head dramatically.

"Oh, daddy missed you." He said to the flask. Rick had put it back in Rick's coat after he had cleaned it and Rick was elated to be reacquainted with hard liquor after a week. He looked back across the diner. The lunchtime rush was beginning and the place was packed. "Not really surprised why you set up shop here, Stan. The people round here've got more heart than brains."

The door jingled and a man in tattered brown coveralls staggered past the booth to sit at the lunch counter. He looked dazed.

"Woah, and more brains than teeth. You guys really have your own crusty prospector? What do you gotta do to get one of those? Do you petition the governor or something?" Rick asked, watching the man wobble on his seat, looking around into nothing deliriously. Stan watched the scraggly man stumble in and he looked away. His good mood dampened a bit. 

"I didn't choose to set up here remember? The shack was my brother's before he went through the portal. I just kinda inherited it but it is in a good spot. Enough tourists come through to keep me comfortable and the small town vibe works for the rich people that come through from the city. They think it's quaint." he took a sip of the beer and let his eyes trail back to the man wobbling in his seat. "That's McGucket. Local loony. He's harmless though. Lives in the junkyard. We all try to take care of him if we can. But whatever made him nuts makes it hard to help him." 

Stan downed the rest of the beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He decided to keep it under his hat that he was pretty sure McGucket had been Ford's lab assistant or something like that. When Stan confronted the old hillbilly he was too far gone to remember much but he seemed to get upset if Stan was around him too much so he always kept his distance.

"It takes a village to raise a nutjob, huh?" Rick mused. Lazy Susan came over with the food. Rick could have sworn it was the most amazing stack of French toast he had ever seen. He took a bite and slumped down in his seat.

"Susan, marry me." He said, not bothering to play up Ricardo's charms but apparently not needing to as Susan giggled again, batting at Rick's arm. As Susan ran off giggling and probably gossiping to any customer who'd listen, which had been Rick's plan this whole time, Stan looked at the comparison between their two plates. Rick's plate was piled so high with French toast Stan was amazed that Lazy Susan got it to the table. His plate, on the other hand, consisted of a single piece of dry toast with a pat of butter and a purple blob of "jelly" on the side. 

"I'm really not feeling the love today. Next thing I know you're gonna run off with Lazy Susan." He joked as he sipped his very very strong coffee. Rick shrugged as he took some of the excess butter from the French toast and smeared it on his steak. A more angry Rick might have made a jab about Susan actually going with him, unlike Stan, but he was feeling more himself than he had for days and didn't want to ruin the momentum of their conversation.

"Hey, I was trying to make you look good talking about how you, Selfless Mr. Mystery, saved his poor friend from the jaws of death. It's not my fault she got lost in my eyes. Well, the right one anyway." Rick made a face with a squinty left eye, a sloppy play on Lazy Susan's eponymous condition. Stan rolled his eyes at Rick behind his coffee cup but left it at that. 

" _Hola Senior Pines_." A small woman walked over. She had dark wavey hair that was shot through with gray. Her petite frame was dressed nicely in a flower print dress and she had a tan handbag hanging from one shoulder. She smiled pleasantly at Stan. Stan smiled and turned to her. 

" _Hola Rosa. Este es mi amigo, Ricardo Sanderson._ " He turned back to Rick quickly. "This is Rosa Ramirez. She comes by and cleans the shack for me. I gotta talk to her for a second."

Rosa's eyes passed over Rick and her smile faltered a bit but she turned back to Stan as he spoke to her in Spanish. After they had agreed on whatever they had been talking about Rosa's eyes drifted back to Rick. Her lips flattened into a straight line and she turned back to Stan. 

" _Auguas, él tiene al diablo en él_." She said very seriously.  Stan laughed hard. 

" _Sí, él lo hace_." He replied. The tiny woman turned and fixed Rick with a hard look. 

" _Ojo, Senior Sanderson, Te crees muy muy._ " With that said she turned a smiling face on Stan. "Adios Senior Pines. Te veré en un par de semanas." She turned on her sensible heels and left the diner. Stan didn't wish her goodbye as he was laughing so hard he thought he'd cry. 

"I love that woman." He said through peals of laughter. Rick furrowed his brow but kept eating his steak. He had been able to pick out the occasional word, chief among them being " _diablo_ ". He  
wondered if she had been talking about Stan's car but had a sneaking suspicion it had been more personal.

"What was that about?" Rick asked, switching back to the french toast. A bead of maple syrup dripped down his chin.

"She told me to be careful cause you have the devil in you and she told you she's keeping an eye on you because you think you're so special." Stan took off his glasses and wiped the tears from his eyes as he chuckled a bit. "I just wanted to ask her not to come clean for a couple weeks."

A forkful of food stopped midway to Rick's mouth. His brow shot up in surprise.

"Okay, that's not creepy at all." Rick said after a moment.

"You can't put anything past Rosa." Stan smiled and ate his toast. "And by the way, Mr. Mystery did save you from the jaws of death. Just this morning in fact, I hope you remember."

When the men had finished eating Stan paid the bill and they headed out the door. Stan stopped and talked to Lazy Susan on the way. He nodded his head towards McGucket and handed Susan some money before he went out the door. Stan noticed that Rick's limp had gotten worse as the day went on. 

"You ok?" He asked as he stood by the driver's side door to the Stanley mobile. Rick didn't know. He had caught himself getting comfortable in a domestic setting with Stan and all those people had seen him. It put Rick squarely out of the realm of Stan's mysterious one night stand returned and into something else entirely Rick didn't know if he was ready to think about. He didn't mention it, instead kneeding his fingers into the side of his neck.

"Uh, I'm just sore and full of food. I could use a nap." He said, truthfully "All the excitement of Mayberry must have taken it out of me."

Rick got into the car and got comfortable, his arm stretched out along the top of the car's front bench seat. He rolled down the window to let the afternoon breeze in. Stan climbed into the car and started it up.

"What's with the twenty you slipped Hagatha back there?" He asked, nodded back at the diner.

"Told her to feed McGucket and give him any change left over. I told you, we all try to help out with the old guy. He gets a bit.... cagey around me sometimes so it's easier if I do it that way." He pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the road.

"Cagey? What'd you do? You look like your friends with just about everybody in town..." Rick looked out the window as the scenery went by.

"Well, I think he might have been my brother's lab assistant." Stan answered. "After my brother went through the portal. I went to him and asked him to help. He didn't seem to remember anything. I think they got caught up in something bad and it drove McGucket nuts. Anyway, I may have gotten a bit rough with him. I ain't proud of it but it happened." Stan kept his eyes on the road. Rick sat up straight at that. 

"That guy used to work down in the basement on that thing?" Rick turned and looked out the back window as if he would see McGucket back there even though they were blocks from the diner now. He looked at Stan and thought hard a moment "I'm not really surprised. If what you said is how it happened, well I've seen what knowledge of the infinite cosmos can do to a guy. It can get real ugly. Hmph. Probably for the best you stopped working on that thing..."

"Who said I stopped working on it?" Stan said looking at Rick out of the corner of his eye. "I take breaks but I got it sparking the other day. I've put too much work in now to give up."

"Good Guy Stan never rests..." Rick wanted to say more. He wanted to remind Stan that The Brother had a way of running out on people and leaving them worse for it. If that nut had been any indication of what messing with that Uber Portal could do, Rick wanted Stan nowhere near it. Stan chuckled.

"Well, Good Guy Stan saved you today by pretending to be Bad Guy Stan." He pulled into the parking lot of the convenience store. "I need a couple of things and I'm guessing you need more cigarettes. You wanna come in or wait here?"

"I'll wait. Wanna stay off this leg." Rick said. He shrugged into the seat and reacquainted his unsplinted leg with the dashboard. Rick figured best to keep his public appearances to a minimum lest he start being expected in town. The thought of anyone asking Stan whatever happened to Stan's nice friend Ricardo after he left made him feel kind of unpleasant.

"Ok. I'll get you the same as I got last time. You seemed to like those." Stan unbuckled himself and started to get out of the car. "I'll get you a couple packs but you gotta make 'em last till next Wednesday. I'm back to work tomorrow." 

Stan walked into the store and Rick watched as Stan greeted the elderly couple inside. The old lady looked out the glass door and pointed right at Rick while saying something excitedly to Stan. Stan looked out the door a bit surprised then smiled and nodded his head as he said something back. The old lady clasped her hands together over her chest and trotted around the counter, out the door and right up to Rick's window. 

"Well hello there!" She said leaning down and looking in the window at Rick. Rick looked from the old lady to Stan still in the store. He gave Rick a sheepish smile and shrugged before the old man took his attention. 

"You must be Stan's nice actor friend Ricardo." She said sweetly. "I'm Ma Duskerton. It's so nice to meet you."

Rick did his best not to sneer. By God, they were coming out of the woodwork. First the witchy old Mexican lady and now Aunt May here. Rick was a little off put by how many old ladies with a keen interest in him there were by square mile in this town.

"Ah..ha, yeah that's me." Rick confirmed reaching through the window to receive the weak little handshake Ma was offering. It had been cute when he sent the waitress into a tizzy, but Rick was beginning to regret his character choice to make Ricardo such a social butterfly.

"I'm sorry to be so forward. I must seem silly but Stanford has been so sweet to us and his Mystery Shack brought all those tourists in to help the town. We would have lost the store if it wasn't for him." She smiled at Rick. "Anywho I just wanted to thank you for coming out and keeping our Stanford company. He works too hard. I tell him every time he comes in he needs to find a nice girl and settle down. I just hate the thought of that good man being all alone. Oh, just listen to me babbling." She tutted herself. "You take good care of him now. He's a catch but if he's not going to let himself be caught right now at least he has a good friend to keep him company."

Rick could have laughed in the woman's face. He was tickled by the irony of this sweet little old woman, who had probably voted for Reagan twice, was thanking Rick for being such a good friend to Stan while he waited for his dream girl and not four hours ago Stan had shot his load up Rick's ass. That paired with the thought of Stan being the hard-won catch, soppy puppy dog he was, threatened to set Rick rolling but he kept it in check and instead only smiled as kindly as he could at the old biddy, feeling out Ricardo's vocabulary.

"You don't know the half of it. But he's in my capable hands, ma'am, and I am going to keep a very close eye on him." He told her. 

"Just what I needed to hear." She said then made her goodbyes, telling Rick it was nice talking with him and God bless then retreated back into the store. Stan held the door for her as he came out with a couple of bags. He slid into the driver's side and placed the bags in Rick's lap.

"Did she try to marry you off too?" He asked with a mildly annoyed look.

"No, but she designated me official babysitter until you are." Rick said, giving Stan a crooked eyebrow. He placed his hand on Stan's thigh and squeezed meaningfully before removing it and beginning to pick through the shopping bag.

"Ugh. Every time I go in there. If it wasn't closer than the grocery store I'd never go." Stan said turning on the car and continuing along the route back to the shack. "Everyone thinks they're so sweet but they're really just assholes. They've got this weird feud with all the teenagers in town. Just tried to talk Pa Duskerton out of banning teenagers from the store entirely but the old jerk says he's gonna do it."

Rick looked at Stan, amused if somewhat astonished.

"Well, the feeling is not mutual. They love Mr. Mystery." He offered. Rick pulled out a cigarette pack and began tearing off the cellophane and hitting it against his palm to pack them.

"They love about the money Mr. Mystery brings in. Those two jacked up their prices and run kids out of their store just cause they can." Stan answered rolling down his window. He didn't want to tell Rick not to smoke in his car but he'd done it when he'd smoked. Besides, Rick seemed pretty happy at the moment and he didn't want to dampen that.

Rick was surprised by Stan's annoyance with the old couple. He put a cigarette in his mouth only then realizing he didn't have a lighter. He settled on rolling it in his mouth idly for the oral sensation.

"Talk like that is not becoming of the town darling." He teased as the cigarette bobbed in his mouth. Stan sighed then admitted.

"They may have said something to me once that they wouldn't have said if they knew I was Jewish." Stan squirmed uncomfortably. It's not that he hid his family's heritage, he just didn't talk about it. It wasn't as if he was practicing. He ate pork and didn't observe holidays but it still didn't give those bigots the right to act that way. "They'd be the first ones on my lawn with pitchforks if they found out I'm a queer Jew."

"Small town life. Gotta love it. Want me to slash their tires?" Rick asked. Stan smiled a bit.

"Naw. They'll get what's coming to them someday." Stan pulled up in front of the shack and put the Diablo in park. He leaned over the bench seat and plucked the cigarette from Rick's lips before kissing him. Slow and deep. 

"They ain't gonna tell me what to do in my house anyway." He said after pulling away. "Kinda wish I'd done that in front of them. Might have given those old fogies a heart attack though." He chuckled and picked up the bags off Rick's lap. Rick put his hand back on Stan's thigh and kissed him again, not matching the one Stan had given him in its depth exchanging it for force.

"Next beer run, remind me to lay one on ya at the register." He said. Rick opened the car door and began pulling himself out. 

Stan really liked Rick and it all seemed so natural lately. He grabbed the clothes from the back seat and came around the car. He passed the bags to Rick saying:

"Carry your own clothes, Debbie baby." He said with a smile. He slid an arm around Rick's waist as they walked inside.

The rest of the afternoon passed by uneventfully. Rick, true to his word, passed out for a nap in Stan's armchair, more exhausted than he has thought after the beating had taken. Stan used the opportunity to mop up the earlier spilled coffee and straighten the few displays in the gallery that had fallen from their perches after the slug's touchdown.

It took the smell of dinner to rouse Rick from his coma and he slumped in to sit at the kitchen table. Over the sizzle and boil of cooking food mundane conversation devolved into Rick telling dirty jokes about dumb blonde candy stripers and horny mailmen. Rick's catalog was surprisingly vast and while some flew over Stan's head due to Rick's assurance that if Stan been to such and such an arbitrarily numbered dimension he would have gotten it, by the time dinner was ready, Stan was laughing so hard he was crying.

They whiled away the rest of the evening in front of the tv, Stan in the easy chair and Rick sitting on the floor with his feet splayed out before him and his back resting against t-rex skull side table. The only thing of any merit on had been a poorly dubbed kung fu movie called "The Five Deadly Venoms". They watched with only mild interest but it kept getting on Rick's nerves that the five warlords the movie's title referred to included one named Toad. Toads were poisonous and not venomous. When two of the other warlords introduced were named Gecko and Centipede, Rick all but threw the remote at the tv.

When the movie had ended and the hour was getting late, Stan helped Rick up the stairs. When they reached the second floor, Rick stepped away. The pair stood there like a couple on the stoop at the end of a date. There was a long pause as neither of them moved. 

Rick wanted to stay. He wanted to follow Stan into his room and crawl into that too small bed with him. He wasn't sure if it was apprehension at Stan's reaction or his own pride keeping him from admitting that he wanted it, but Rick muttered some kind of lame goodnight. It made Rick feel stupidly exposed. He stood rooted to the spot a moment longer then he, at last, turned to navigate the stairs to the attic. He got two steps away before he heard it. The creak of a floorboard. He didn't know if it was his own movement that caused it or maybe Stan taking a step of his own after Rick. Rick stopped in his tracks. He didn't turn at first. He just stood in the dark quiet of the hallway, weighing his options. It was a delicate act keeping himself just as close as he could stand to Stan without betraying his mistrust in his own inability to feel.

It would be childish for Rick to consider that one step pursuit but it was all the excuse he needed. He turned and took Stan by the wrist, jokingly huffing "I won't make you beg..." and leading him into the bedroom.

The sex had been even better the second time.

 

  
The next morning Stan woke up to Rick pressed against him, his head under his chin. When he was pretty sure Rick was still deep asleep Stan took the opportunity to kiss Rick's forehead before laying there and watching him for a moment. 

The big man knew his feelings ran towards the passionate side on most things but with Rick, it was something that had built up over ten years of wanting. He wouldn't hide how he felt any more. The worst Rick could do was leave and Stan had lived through that before. He hadn't died or shriveled up from loneliness. Rick would leave eventually anyhow so why not let it out?

After about ten minutes Stan tried his hardest to sneak out of bed without disturbing the other occupant but was unsuccessful. Rick tried to convince Stan to stay with him but Mr. Mystery had work to do as far as Stan was concerned. 

Rick did persuade Stan to stay longer than he planned as Rick ended up riding him slowly until both of them came hard. The grumbling from Stan only lasted a few minutes as he complained about how he was going to be running late the rest of the day thanks to Rick but he couldn't be mad. Not truly. The image of Rick with his head thrown back in ecstasy framed by the early morning light has been one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen. The quiver of Rick's thighs under his big hands had set Stan off and he had cum so hard he thought he'd black out. 

Stan had gotten a bit flustered when one of the teens who helped after school had commented that Stan seemed to be in a better mood than usual. He blustered and puffed up and told him to get back to work but smiled to himself.

Stan spent the next few days being open with Rick, never saying much about it but doing what felt right. He called Rick 'babe' and 'Debbie' and 'Lover Boy' as terms of endearments. He checked in on Rick more often throughout the day and would let Rick see him smiling about the other man. When it was time for bed, Stan took Rick's hand in his as casually as he could. They had always been relegated to grabbing each other's wrists or arms. Hands had felt too intimate but Stan was done with that. Before Rick left him Stan was going to get past those walls. 

Rick had taken the affection in stride, figuring that if Stan was offering it he didn't have to squash the man's enthusiasm but he didn't have to reciprocate it either. Plus, he sort of liked the little moments of attention that he knew Stan was not giving anyone else. Rick would be the first to admit that he was emotionally selfish in addition to being emotionally unavailable most of the time.

Rick had to concede though that he liked the hand holding. It reminded him of when Stan had put to the band-aid on his cigarette burn. That had been the first glimpse beyond what Rick had thought would be a simple physical relationship between him and Stan, and a hint a how deeply Stan always cared about those around him. It was the first time anyone had taken care of Rick in a very long time and that little gesture had stuck with Rick. He would never reach out to take Stan's hand but he never pulled away when he felt Stan's fingers slip through his.

After another week Stan switched Rick's brace to a wrap. He took his time coiling the ace bandage around Rick's ankle letting his fingers trail over Rick's calf then relaxing with Rick's legs on his lap. Rick smoked and they talked, sitting on the couch on the porch. That had become part of their nightly ritual. Sometimes they would talk about the more colorful tourists from the day's tours or their lives in the last ten years. Rick had always assumed this tourist trap had been a prison for Stan, but the way he talked about it and the obvious affection all the locals seemed to have for him served to prove Rick wrong.

Once Stan tentatively brought up Rick's family. If he had been in contact with them at all or if he missed his daughter. When Stan brought up if Rick had gone through with the divorce Rick laughed and told Stan he wouldn't make him the other woman before climbing into Stan's lap and kissing the larger man until they both forgot what they were talking about.

There would be other times where they would sit there, Rick would make smoke signals with his Marlboros and they would say nothing. Once Stan had even produced a nip bottle of peach schnapps and they split it, mixed with pit cola, drinking in companionable silence, watching and listening to a warm spring rain beat itself out on the porch's overhanging roof. 

The quiet was nice. Stan always hated silence usually but it didn't feel intimidating or empty with Rick. Things had been similar with Ford. His brother would sit at his desk with homework while Stanley lay in his bunk with a comic book. Eventually, Stan would lay the comic book across his chest and just watch Ford. Marveling in how happy he felt around his brother. Stan had to admit he felt a little of that around Rick.

As days ticked on, things had begun to fall into a routine, without either of them noticing. Rick would sleep in while Stan ran the shop and when the shop closed, Rick would be waiting in his second-hand t-shirts and snug jeans after a long day of doing absolutely nothing.

The routine was broken one night when Stan didn't come back right after he closed up. Rick waited a while keeping himself busy with a crappy horror film on cable but after a while he got sick of waiting. He started in the gift shop then moved into the galleries. Stan was nowhere to be found. Rick hobbled up the stairs to the second-floor hallway thinking that Stan may have gone to the bedroom and fallen asleep though it seemed unlikely. 

There was a light coming from a room Rick hadn't been in before. He looked in and saw Stan hunched over several books with a disgruntled look on his face and his head in his hands. Rick made a noise and Stan looked up surprised. He grumbled that he was sorry but he had to get the books in order because he'd let them go too long and for Rick to eat without him as he'd be there for a while. 

Stan then went in search of his calculator. He eventually found it in the gift shop and slouched back to his office. When he got there he was surprised to see Rick sitting at his desk and going over the ledgers with speed and ease. He looked up at Stan quickly then made a snide joke about how bad at math Stan was and how he'd take over doing the books while he was here. Rick was done in fifteen minutes. He stood and brushed past an astounded Stan saying that Stan shouldn't read too much into it; He just didn't want to cook. In fact, Rick didn't want to eat by himself but he'd never admit that.

The little chore had become part of Rick's daily practice with no questions asked after that. He would hobble out to the gift shop at closing time, snap his fingers at the teenaged girl at the register for the drawer and receipts, pointedly refusing to make small talk or use her name, despite Rick having seen her name tag reading 'Melissa' directly over one of her ample C cups then disappear into Stan's office to deal with the day's earnings, put the profits in the safe and file the day's paperwork into the filing cabinet. He wondered how a sudden upturn in the quality of the books would affect the tax fraud loopholes Stan seemed to be employing. Rick quietly improved upon them here and there. Rick did all this as quickly and efficiently as possible, knowing once he was done, there would be tv and cigarettes and more time with Stan. His personal record was four minutes and fifty seconds.

Evenings at the Shack were awash in the creature comforts Rick had not experienced since he left his family. Stan attested that he could not cook but Rick found this to be only partly true. Some of his dishes were spectacular. Stan made knishes and Rick praised them heartily, taking plate after plate with mustard and sauerkraut. Rick had no problem eating and it was most likely to do with a high metabolism. Stan told him as much and Rick assured him it was because he was in touch with all seven of his deadly sins, gluttony being no exception. Rick joked that he had achieved perfect vice balance and told Stan about a time he had tried to start a religion under those principles for tax exempt benefits when he had been in a tight spot for a lot of cash. It had gone pretty well at first too, as most harebrained schemes often did, before ending ugly. Pitchforks and torches ugly. Needless to say, Rick had yet to return to that planet. Stan smiled and told Rick to ask the master for pointers next time.

There was also the sex. There were about ten years to make up for and Rick was not going to let it go. Stan doubted he had had such frequent sex since he was a teenager, often when they ended the night in Stan's room and sometimes even right after Stan had closed the Shack for the day. There was a long session in Stan's armchair that had been a bit taxing on Rick when he found he couldn't manage the position he had found himself. He was in Stan's lap, his back against Stan's chest, trying to push back onto the other man but couldn't without pain to his ankle. He tried to swing his leg over the armrest and use his good leg and the upper body strength of his arms to bounce himself on Stan's cock. He felt too good to stop and change positions or move the fun to another room. Seeing Rick's effort may have been causing him trouble, Stan slipped his hands under both of Rick's thighs and held him up, opening his legs like a lewd display. Stan braced his own feet on the carpet and thrust up hard into Rick. Being in place and letting Stan pound him hard like that had been too much for Rick and he soon came, crying out like an animal. It was one of many times in the ensuing weeks when the two had not been able to keep their hands off each other long enough to make it to the bedroom. 

Days had become weeks and Rick had caught himself waking up with Stan as he became more comfortable with his surroundings. He blamed it on Stan's inability to navigate the bedroom quietly but they both knew it was one of Ricks convenient truths. Rick even took breakfast with Stan some mornings, again citing the reason to something rational like Stan's pancakes. It was during one of these early morning breakfasts, when Stan casually pulled the top sheet off the calendar, did Rick realize how long he has been staying at the Mystery Shack. 

Without thinking, Stan had switched May into June on his "Beauty of the Oregon Coast" calendar, and the thought that Rick had spent a month in this place with this man hit Rick like a ton of bricks. A month had come and gone just as quickly and easily as the glossy photograph of the Thor's Well sink hole at Perpetua Cape had been torn away and replaced with Neskowin Beach's Proposal Rock. Longer if you considered the first tense week Rick had stayed up in the attic, but rick considered everything after what he had been calling "Slug Day" in his mind a do-over.

It certainly wasn't the longest he had spent with a lover. Hell, it had been years with his wife. But there was something significant about how, without planning it, Rick had insinuated himself into Stan's day-to-day life longer than it took the caterpillars out in the woods all around them to become butterflies. Rick didn't quite know what to do with this information. He let Stan have the last pancake.

Rick woke groggily the next morning in his customary pile with Stan. He didn't extricate himself, only craned to look at the alarm clock. 5:40 am. The sun was beginning to peak through the trees washing the bedroom in the watery half-light between dawn and true morning. Rick was all but nose to nose with Stan. He was still fast asleep, his head at an angle on Rick's arm that quieted his snores. Rick waited, feeling for the rhythm of Stan's gentle breaths. It was strange how you knew someone had to be breathing but you still had to focus on the gentle up and down of their chest to register it. The whole world was quiet except for that breathing and the gentle intermittent ki-ki-do call of some kind of bird either up too early for the proverbial worm or winding down from its nocturnal escapades.

Rick watched Stan with sleep-clouded eyes. He studied each facet of the man's face, memorizing the lines of his forehead, permanently etched there even in his relaxed sleep then moving down to his eyelashes, double layered and full over his closed eyes. His strong jaw, softened and slack now in slumber. Rick liked how the follicles just below the skin gave Stan's face a mild grey discoloration even when he had recently shaved. 

Rick gathered his arms around Stan and squeezed him ever so gently for no other reason than except in this moment, this gentle quiet moment where he felt like he was the only person awake in this world between day and night, Rick just had to. No one could witness his weak, too heartsick feelings so Rick indulged himself. The sleeping man was quite a handful but Rick enjoyed the weight and substance of him in his arms. He pressed his mouth to Stan's forehead, not kissing but rather just finding the best configuration to get the pair of them as close as possible. He breathed in the scent of Stan's hair, clean and lingering as if the forest had imbued the smells of cedar and pine into Stan's very core.

A sensation like warmth and hunger radiated through Rick starting in his stomach and swelling into his chest. Rick wasn't a child and he knew very well what that feeling was. He had felt it at least twice before in situations not too dissimilar to this one where only the names had been changed. Once Unity, once Dianne and now Stan. His knee jerk reaction, in keeping with how those two previous instances had ended, was to kill the feeling before it set up shop in Rick like a parasite that would drain and eventually kill him. To keep up his facade to everyone, including himself, until Rick could convince himself that he had never really had that feeling at all. But if that morning bird outside could keep a secret, who was there to know?

Stan shifted in his sleep, tilting his head up and Rick pulled away just enough to look down at Stan. Rick leaned in and kissed Stan just above his eyebrow, relishing the warmth and care of it in the semi-darkness. Rick's hair wreathed his face like a messy halo as he nestled into the pillows, watching Stan through half-lidded eyes. To Rick's dismay, Stan made a soft wet noise in the back of his mouth and his eyes fluttered open. 

"Y'wake?" Stan slurred "S'wrong? What're y'lookin' at?"

Rick yawned and played it off as if he had also just gained consciousness.

"A queer with morning breath. Go back to sleep." Rick said, heart swelling even more when Stan closed his eyes.


	6. Part 6

To say that Rick was acting weird since they got up would be an understatement in Stan's opinion. First of all, Rick hadn't complained at all about getting up when Stan did. Usually, there was some grumbling and at least one comment about how Stan was as good at sneaking as an elephant in a minefield or something to that effect but this morning as Stan bustled about the room Rick sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched like he had to get up also. He pulled on the old sweat pants and the backupsmore sweatshirt and left the bedroom. Stan assumed he just wanted a morning cigarette and was startled when he walked into the kitchen and Rick was making eggs. Mr. Mystery stood in the doorway looked at Rick like he was one of the exhibits that had come to life. 

When Stan finally came and sat at the breakfast table he watched Rick cautiously as he walked around the kitchen. Rick rested a plate of food in front of Stan and after a quick inspection to make sure it was edible, Stan began eating. All the food was actually pretty good and Stan made sure to tell Rick that as the other man stood at the stove and started making coffee. He also pointed out that Rick wasn't limping nearly as bad as he had been. That was met with a noncommittal shrug from Rick but Stan was sure that Rick was suddenly favoring his injured ankle much less afterward. 

Still, none of this set off alarm bells until Stan went to go through the door that connected the tv room to the gift shop. Without preamble, Rick slid his hand into Stan's and pulled him back. Rick kissed Stan. He kissed him deep and passionately. The tall man never kissed Stanley for no reason. When Rick pulled away he gave Stan a "have a good day at work dear," mimicking a fifties housewife before smirking and leaving the room. 

This was the moment Stan had been preparing himself for. Rick was going to leave, probably while Stan was working. Stan knew Rick wouldn't stay forever but he had hoped he could say goodbye and convince Rick not to wait ten years to come back. Stan almost ran after him but a frantic "Mr. Pines!!" came from the gift shop. If it was going to happen, Stan was going to have to let it happen. 

What followed was not a good day. In fact, it had been one of the worst days Stan could remember in a long time. He was so busy and exhausted he didn't have time to think about Rick leaving until Melissa shoved the cash drawer and receipts into Stan's hands. 

"Your weird friend didn't show up." She said, shouldering her purse. "And tell him to stop looking at my boobs."

She flounced out the door and Stan groaned to himself about having to talk to Rick about ogling the seventeen-year-old cashier but then he remembered he might not have Rick here to say that to. 

He knew he should go and put the cash drawer in his office but Stan had to know if Rick was there. Walking into the tv room slowly, he placed the drawer and receipts on the table as he surveyed the empty room then moved to the kitchen. Empty again. Stan rushed to the front door knowing that when he opened it Rick would be sitting there smoking and watching the scenery. Stan couldn't breath when he saw the couch empty. 

He thought he'd be more ready but he hadn't even been able to say goodbye. He shut the door and leaned his back against it. The thought that his sheets would smell like Rick almost made his knees buckle but Stan fought it. He hadn't expected it to hurt so much. Stan took a deep breath and straightened up. The world wouldn't stop turning and the pain would ease eventually. It always did. 

Stan started upstairs. He was still in his Mr. Mystery outfit and he didn't want to be Mr. Mystery right now. As he came around the corner of his bedroom door, there was Rick. He was writing on an old note pad he must have found in Stan's office and was sitting with his legs stretched in front of him, lounging on some pillows on their bed. 

Stan stood there amazed but so happy. He wanted to run in there and ravage Rick. Kiss him everywhere and make him moan and grip him in those long arms. He wanted to say things to Rick he had no intention of saying to him before this but all Stan could manage was a weak "Hey."

Rick tucked the notepad under the pillows perhaps a little too quickly. He looked at Stan with genuine confusion and maybe the smallest hint of concern.

"Hey," He parroted then added "What's happening?"

Affecting an exhausted look, which wasn't hard, as Stan was in fact ready to collapse, Stan leaned against the door frame.

"This was the worst fucking day." He didn't want to tell Rick he thought he had left. It could potentially start a fight and he was so relieved Rick was here he didn't want that to happen. Stan pushed off the door frame and slunk over to the bed.

"It's usually not this busy this early in the year. Had five tour buses one after the other. All full." He climbed into the bed between Rick's legs. Stan wrapped his arms around Rick's waist and pressed his face into his stomach with a groan. "Bunch of bitchy moms and snotty kids. Some little brat threw up in the gallery." He mumbled against Rick's stomach. He looked up at Rick and gave him a quizzical look. "Were you looking at Melissa's tits?" he asked. It wasn't said in an angry way. More like Stan was asking if Rick had remembered to pick up bread at the store. Rick pulled Stan's fez off and tossed it onto one of the bedposts.

"Hey, they were looking at me first. If my balls were out like that she'd have a hard time not staring at them. I can't help it if she's got a set of knockers like Traci Lords." Rick explained. There was an amiability in his voice, something soothing yet mischievous. He rested one hand on the nape of Stan's neck and the other between his shoulder blades. "Sucks you had a shitty day. Ever the glamorous life of Mr. Mystery, huh?'

"First of all, she's seventeen. Keep your eyes in your head for another month and she'll be eighteen or at least don't get caught. And secondly, I gotta work to keep you in all this finery. No one said it was glamorous being the town darling." He smiled softly up at Rick and held onto him a bit tighter. Rick smiled back despite himself.

"Eh, she seems bitchy anyway. Not worth it." He joked. He wiggled a bit where he sat. "Come on, lemme go. I need to do something."

Stan groaned and pulled away to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I don't feel like cooking. Wanna order pizza?" He asked. Rick swung his legs out and pulled himself to his feet. It was becoming easier to move around as the days went by but Rick was not going to risk walking without his cane. He left the room and Rick heard the arythmic thump of Rick descending the stairs.

A few minutes later Stan heard Rick returning, slower and more carefully this time. When Rick came back into the room he was laden with a metal try emblazoned with the Anheuser Busch eagle. On the tray were two plates, each with a roast beef sandwich. They were piled high with lettuce, tomatoes and the roasted red peppers that came jarred in olive oil, all on sesame seed bagels. Also on the tray was a bowl of pretzels. Presumably, because Rick could not find ramekins in the kitchen Rick had filled two coffee mugs with green olives and pickles. Two bottles of beer completed the tableau. Rick carefully slid the tray onto the bed and sat down with it between them.

"Hope you like horseradish." Rick said nonchalantly. He handed Stan a plate. It was one of Stan's Shabbat plates. Stan looked at the plate in surprise and wonder. His thumb brushed over the edge of the plate. He looked up at Rick, searching for a moment then smiled.

"I do actually. Thanks. And thanks for breakfast. I didn't get a chance to say that this morning." Stan almost asked Rick what was wrong or if he was leaving but had stopped. If Rick was doing something nice just to be nice, Stan would except it. He wasn't used to being taken care of. He was always the caretaker but he thought maybe this would be good for Rick. 

He took a big bite of his sandwich and sighed appreciatively. The tension melted from his body and he turned to look at Rick as he chewed. Once he swallowed he said "You could've just asked me to come downstairs. I would've felt bad if you fell with all this."

"Well, I didn't." Rick tried to sound put upon by that but it came out just sounding difficult on purpose. "'Sides, it wouldn't have looked as good just pulling the plates out of the fridge. First bite's with the eyes." 

Rick popped a few of the olives into his mouth and opened his beer.

"Jeez. Didn't know I was fucking Mr. Fancy over here." Stan laughed. He took another bite of his sandwich and opened his own beer.

"I can take it back." Rick warned teasingly. The two ate, sitting side by side on the bed, plates balanced on their knees. When all but a few stray pretzels were left, Rick stacked the plates on the tray and stood to leave the room wordlessly. This time, Stan did not hear much of anything for a few minutes with the exception of Rick's thumping cane. Then he heard the heavy rush of water in the tub.

Rick reentered the room. He stood in front of Stan, leaning the cane against the bed, and put Stan's hands on his own hips. Using Stan's grip like a safety harness, Rick put his weight on his good foot and used both of his freed hands to undo Stan's bowtie. Stan obediently lifted his chin and let Rick undress him. His big hands cupping those thin hips. He smiled softly up at Rick. Rick continued purposefully, moving to the shirt buttons next.

"Were you planning this or is this cause I had a bad day?" He asked as his shirt came open. He didn't help Rick take it off but slid his hands up a bit so the tips of his fingers slid under Rick's shirt. Rick shrugged with a boyishness that did not match his angular serious looks.

"A little of column A, a little of column B. I'm pretty good at winging it." He grinned. Rick pushed off Stan's coat, his suspenders then finally his shirt. He grabbed his cane and gently pulled away from Stan.

"C'mon." He tossed the word over his shoulder like a bit of litter as he left the room. Stan stood from the bed and caught up to Rick quickly. He slid his hand into Rick's but followed down the stairs behind him.

"Was just checking cause I don't respond well to being babied." He teased using Rick's words from years ago. Rick looked over his shoulder and the only way Stan could describe the look Rick was giving him was fond. Stan couldn't remember Rick looking at him that way ever before and it made the blood rush to his face. Rick led Stan to the bathroom. The steam rose through the air blanketing the room in wonderful warmth.

"Go on. You need it." Rick said, not unkindly. He turned off the water then motioned to the tub expectantly.

"Ok, ok..." Stan said. He toed his shoes off and undid his pants. He smirked a little at Rick as he pushed down his pants and boxers. Stan pulled off his socks and crossed to the tub. He slid in and hummed in appreciation. "I'm usually a shower guy, but this is nice."

Stan closed his eyes and relaxed. The room was quiet and comfortable and Stan sunk into the bath water. Its soft touch encased him, working on his overtaxed muscles. The water rippled and Stan opened his eyes. Rick had slipped off his clothes and bandage and was lowering himself into the bath, his legs between Stan's splayed ones. He wrapped his arms around Stan's neck and pulled himself close, their chests and stomach slipping against each other in the warm current of shifting bathwater.

"Told you." Rick smiled devilishly a touch from Stan's lips. Stan smiled and wrapped his arms around Rick. 

"I'm gonna hate myself for asking this but what did you tell me?"

"The first night I was here. I said things would be better if you got in the tub with me. I was right?" Rick explained. He kissed Stan's damp flesh just below his ear, feeling the strength of the other man's jaw bone. He didn't linger there. Instead, he enjoyed the subtle movement of his body on Stan's as his body lifted and settled in the water with his gentle breaths.

"Now whatever you do, don't give me that shit eating grin. For. _Once_. You were absolutely right." Stan took Rick's chin between his thumb and a crooked forefinger and pulled him in, gently brushing their lips together at first then kissing deeper. Letting go of Rick's chin, Stan slid his fingers into that crazy gray hair.

Rick kissed back but let Stan lead. The scent of the water and Stan's wet skin was intoxicating and Rick could taste the salt of brine and the acrid tang of horseradish still on Stan's palette. If he hadn't just been eating the same, it may have put a damper on the kiss, but Rick doubted it. When Stan at last released Rick's lips, Rick used them to grace Stan with the biggest shit eating grin he could manage.

"Fucking asshole." Stan chuckled but kissed Rick again. One hand slid down the slim back and grabbed Rick's ass. "Mmm, I'll let you be smug for now." Stan mumbled between kisses.

Rick thought of replying but he decided that given the choice between being smug and being kissed, Rick was not dumb enough to rely on getting the last word in. He languidly worked his mouth against Stan's own, tongue exploring the cavern of his mouth, tooth by tooth. Stan hummed happily, one hand squeezing Rick's ass gently. He pressed his hips forward brushing himself against Rick. Stan was starting to get hard but was enjoying the slow seduction Rick had thought up. He could feel Rick was enjoying this too. 

"This went from a very bad day to a very good day quickly." He whispered against Rick's lips. He tilted his head and kissed down Rick's jaw to his neck. He kissed the juncture of neck and shoulder sucking lightly, his teeth grazing the skin. Rick snickered through his teeth, enjoying the scrape of Rick's teeth. After a few more minutes of this, Rick groped over the tub's edge. His wet fingers slipped along the edge of the bottle he had left there when he turned on the tap. He pulled it up into the tub and uncapped it, arms still behind Stan's head. He squeezed the shampoo into the palm of his hand and let the bottle go into the water to bob away like a buoy in a choppy bay.

"Head back, Stud." Rick instructed. Stan complied and closed his eyes so Rick could do what he needed to. He loosened his grip on Rick but didn't remove his hands. Just sliding his hand from ass to hip and back of the head to between shoulder blades changed everything from sexual to intimate. Stan gave himself over to Rick. Maybe to get past Rick's walls he'd have to bring down his own.

Rick pulled his fingers through Stan's hair, working the soap in. He massaged Stan's scalp and watched Stan's face for a reaction. He was not uneducated in the ways of tender touch but it put him out of his element. Rick, ever the stubborn bastard, knew it was something he needed to at least try. He tilted Stan's head back into the water, running his fingers along the flowing strands as they waved under the surface of the water, leaving ropes of soap and dissolving bubbles behind. He combed through with as much care and attention as he could, still looking into Stan's face with soft unsure interest. Stan cracked his eyes open and lifted his head out of the water a bit, just enough so he could hear better. He had seen the expectant look in Rick's eyes and his heart swelled as he thought that Rick didn't do this with other lovers. 

"That felt good. I've always liked when you play with my hair. Your fingers are perfect for it." He said softly. Rick blinked and looked away, trying to hide any embarrassment in a sneer. It had only occurred to Rick how often in the last month Rick had nonchalantly put his hands into Stan's hair. He would stroke a lock between his thumb and forefinger like a worry stone as they watched whatever garbage was playing on any given night or when Stan would join him on the porch, Rick's arm would already be stretched across the back of the sofa and he would slip his fingers up along the nape of Stan's hair, in an unconscious way.

Rick didn't know how being told his fingers were perfect for it made him feel. His dexterous hands could create and destroy, hurt and pleasure but he didn't think they were capable of comfort. They were vessels for his brilliant mind to do its work and it stood to reason, if Rick was as incapable of tenderness as he believed himself to be, his hands were just as inadequate.

Rick slipped his arms under the water and behind Stan's back, kneading the muscles of his shoulder blades. After a few minutes of this, Rick gently pulled Stan over to trade places with him. Water sloshed over the side of the tub but Rick ignored it. It wasn't graceful but it needed to be done. Rick pulled himself up to sit with his arms along the rim of the tub.

"Turn over." He said. Stan did so with some difficulty and Rick settled Stan back into him, the man's arms over Rick's knees and his head against Rick's thin chest. Rick returned to petting Stan's damp hair with his long fingers. This was better. He didn't know what to do with Stan looking at him that way. Stan leaned back against Rick. He sighed and turned his face into the side of Rick's neck. He had seen Rick's reaction to what he said and it irked him a bit. Still, Rick was making an effort.

"This would almost be comfortable if you weren't bony as hell." He teased, nuzzling into Rick. Perhaps teasing Rick was better than compliments. Rick leaned his chin on the top of Stan's head and Stan felt more than heard him chuckle. 

"Ass." Rick said jokingly. There was a companionable silence as Rick seemed to be thinking something over. He played his hand back and forth underwater across Stan's forearm. 

"Hey," He said mildly then waited a beat "Indulge me?"

"Do I have a choice?" Stan chuckled. He could feel himself starting to drift off a bit. Between the heat of the water and the feel of Rick's arms around him, Stan felt absolutely comforted. "Ok. Get on with it."

"When you say we're done soaking, let me know. " Rick chuckled again "You're smart enough to know I'm trying to... I'm trying. I've got an idea."

Stan chuckled. He slid his hand into the hair at the nape of Rick's neck. He tilted his head back and kissed Rick. It was shallow with the angle they were at, but neither of them were complaining.

"Mmm. As good as this feels, I might fall asleep if we stay here too long." He mumbled against Rick's lips, enjoying all of the care Rick had put into this. "I'm interested in this idea you have too."

He braced his arms against the sides of the tub and pulled himself up to his feet. Rivulets of water running down his compact body. Rick did not hide the once over he gave Stan's naked body and the streams of water hugging the shapes of his anatomy. His eyes lingered on Stan's buttocks before traveling up and taking in the strong silhouette of his back and shoulders. Stan's tattoo peered down at Rick and it was somehow refreshing. It reminded Rick who he was with; who he was actually with. Stan stepped from the tub and offered his hand.

"Do you need help?" He asked. Rick took it. His muscles, relaxed from the hot water, felt rubbery in a wonderful way and his twisted ankle didn't hurt in the least for the moment. Stan pulled Rick in and kissed him for no reason other than he wanted to and he could. 

"You got towels? This is your show tonight babe. Not gonna step on your feet." His hands ran over Rick's slick back, just enjoying the feel. Those hands on his wet skin sorely tempted Rick to abandon all the pretense and ravage Stan right there on the wet bathroom floor. He took Stan's hips in his thin hands and almost did but kept the urge at bay for now. Instead, he nodded in the direction of the sink where two towels sat folded neatly. 

"I thought of everything." Rick said and grabbed his cane and the ace bandage. He tossed the unfurled bandage over his shoulders like a feather boaed femme fatale at a dinner party. 

The pair returned to the bedroom, each with their towel loosely knotted around their waist. Rick pulled out a short stool from one corner of the room and waited expectantly until Stan took the hint and sat. Rick removed the tray from the bed, leaving it on the floor at the foot of it. He sat on the mattress, legs up and his bandage still coiled around his shoulders and neck, scarf-like. He eyed Stan with practiced knowing sharpness. 

"Stanford, we are going to play a game." Rick told him. Stan laughed and rolled his eyes. 

"I have to say the last time we played a game together it was fun. And I won till about a month ago." he smirked tilting his head slightly and giving Rick a lusty look. "What do you have in mind?"

"Never have I ever." Rick explained. He began to wrap his ankle back up. His towel fell away but as always Rick was unbothered by nudity "Y'know, you say something you've never done-"

"Woah. Hold your horses there." Stan said holding up his hands. "I've played this game enough to know if there's another player that's traveled the whole universe ya don't play. It's gonna get kinda boring if I'm sitting here sober and you're drunk as a skunk." he said a little exasperated.

"We're not drinking!" Rick said, a twinge of exasperation creeping into his own tone. Rick fastened the bandage and leaned over to take his flask from the bedside table where it usually lived when not in Rick's pocket. He took a swig and belched. "I mean, not for the game at least. If you've ever, you scoot the stool closer to the bed."

"So I'll be sitting here all night cause I've never done half the stuff you have." Stan huffed. Then he smiled a bit. "What do I get if I get to the bed?"

Rick's face lost his playful edge and he stared at the floor a moment before speaking again. He sounded matter-of-fact yet impulsive, like Rick had been thinking about saying it for a while but hadn't actually practiced.

"Look I'll be honest. What we have, it's fun. It-it's the most fun I've had in a real long time. But I'd be an idiot to think that fun is the only thing you want. And really, when it comes down to it, I don't know if I'm built for anything more than that." Rick could see Stan start to bristle and he held a hand up "Hear me out. We could go around in circles about whether I'm worth your time, we can make lists and graphs and quantify this thing we've got going here. Believe me, I could. Give me a graphing calculator and I could topple civilizations. Or...we can leave it up to chance like we did the first night we met. If you make it to the bed you get me and goddammit, I'm going to do my very best to try not to fuck you over again. But... if you can't make it to the bed in ten rounds, I'm going. If that cut on your arm gets infected, you don't just keep it and hope the gangrene won't spread. You cut it off. That's the only way I'm not going to screw this up again."

Rick waited a moment, waiting for Stan to object or possibly gathering himself.

"What I'm saying is, If we keep it fun, if we play our games, that might be the only way I'm going to get through this. So humor me. Take a chance. Live fast, die old?"

So it was play to win or lose what time he had left? Stan wanted to fight Rick on this. He wanted to walk over to that bed and kiss Rick harder and deeper than he ever had but he knew it would mean he would automatically lose Rick's game and he couldn't let that happen. Stan squared his shoulders.

"Ok. Let's play. Live fast. Die old."

Rick pushed back onto the bed, making himself more comfortable. He waited, trying to think of something to start with. He hadn't considered the restrictions this game put him under. The first two categories people usually went with were sex and travel. There was very little in those arenas Rick hadn't done, so that was out. He tried to think more generic.

"Ok...Never have I ever seen Die Hard." He said plainly. Stan took a breath. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he thought. He had seen Die Hard several times in the theater. 

"You really haven't seen Die Hard?" He asked skeptically as he moved the stool a bit closer. Rick noted the movement of the chair but had pretty much known it would happen. He shrugged.

"Yeah, I know, I know. It's the perfect Christmas movie, tis the season to watch Alan Rickman fall off that tower, all that. But I don't know, I've dealt with terrorists before and really they are just kind of boring. All that garbage about regimes and the world changing in a blaze. It-it-it does nothing for me. Why would I want to watch some shoeless asshole climb around a skyscraper full of them for two hours? Yawn. Pass." He said. He sounded defensive but in a rehearsed way that said this was not the first time he had explained it.

"I should have known it was too popular for you. You think too much. Just shut your brain off for a damn minute and watch John McClane kick some ass." Stan said smiling. "And Bonnie Badilia! What a fox!" he laughed.

"Uh-huh, my brain does not have a shut-off switch. If it did I wrenched it off the wall years ago." Rick assured Stan.

"Yeah. I know you don't shut off." Stan said placidly.

"Ah, okay, let me think. Umm... never have I ever gotten through an entire pomegranate before." Said Rick. Stan paused to think. He knew what a pomegranate was. One of the guys in the gang from Columbia ate those weird red fruits pretty often and he had let Stan have a taste. It had been tart with a little seed inside and when he expressed interest in it, the gangster had come in the next day with three for Stan, explaining proudly how his wife grew them in her own garden. Stan had not wanted to insult a drug runner and especially not a drug runner's wife and eaten all three before the day was over. Stan moved the stool a little closer, confidently.

"How many times do I have to move this thing before I'm on the bed?" He asked with a mischievous smirk. Rick motioned at the expanse of floor still ahead of Stan.

"You still have floor there? Keep scooting until there's no more. You've only got eight more chances and you're doing pretty good, so don't bitch." Rick lectured in a good-natured way. He considered his options for a moment.

"Never have I ever... Gone skiing." Rick drew out the last syllable of 'ever' before settling on his choice. The smile on Stan's face slipped away and he looked with disdain at the floor space between him and the bed. He looked back at Rick. 

"At least you know I'm not stupid enough to throw myself down a mountain with wood on my feet."

Rick laughed but it petered out when it sunk in that in having the silly thing in common was keeping Stan farther away. The reality of the game sunk in a little for Rick. It was like flipping a coin and only knowing what you wanted when it was in the air. Rick could have lobbed softballs at Stan and baited him with easy examples he knew Stan had done but he decided that if there really was a chance this could backfire and Rick would not be in this bed come morning he didn't want to pull his punches. It would be unfair to Stan in the long run and Rick couldn't bring himself to stop what he'd started any more than he could stop gravity from pulling the coin to the ground. There was another silence between them. Rick's voice was a little softer when he broke it.

"Never have I ever had a surprise party thrown for me." Rick said. "Well I mean, someone tried once, but I figured it out right away and I didn't go cause you know... birthdays are meaningless, right? So I, uh... I don't count it."

Rick sighed and it was a sound of frustration and despondency. It seemed by his body language and expression the source of his disappointment was with himself. Stan moved his chair a bit closer and wondered how close he could get before Rick called him out on it. He was glad he got to move closer but it reminded Stan of the surprise party Ford had thrown him. 

Stan had been grounded and even if he wasn't he wouldn't have shown his face to anyone. It was the day of the twin's ninth birthday party and Stan had run into the pawn shop even though he had been warned many times by his father not to. Today proved why. Stan tripped and bumped hard into a shelf. There was a crashing sound and an antique cookie jar lay in pieces on the floor. Before Stan could even process the whole event his father had cuffed him hard on the side of his face before dragging by the back of his shirt to his room and tossing him inside.

"Don't you even think about leaving this room for the rest of the night!" His father had said, red faced, before slamming the door.  Stanley could feel his face puffing up already and he stayed on the bunk and cried. He could hear the party outside even if it was just the very limited amount of friends he and Ford had from school. At one point he heard Ford calling to him softly through the door.

"Stanley? It's not as much fun without you." He whispered. That made him feel a bit better but it still didn't make his face stop throbbing. Stan decided to sleep through the rest of the party. When he opened his eyes again there was Ford. He smiled and offered Stan the piece of cake he had squirreled away for him.

"Surprise." He whispered. Ford had decorated the room even at the late hour. Ford had sat on the bed and held an ice pack against Stan's face while he ate cake. It was the best birthday Stan could remember. 

"I kind of like birthdays." Stan told Rick simply.

"You would..." Rick scoffed but his heart didn't seem to be in it. Rick began to curl in on himself, pulling a knee up to his chest. He didn't want to seem weak but the pettiness of his comment suddenly made him feel small. "Nevermind. Never have I ever... never have I ever referred to sex as 'making love'."

Stan sat still and looked at his big hands in his lap. He didn't lift his head but he did look up at Rick a little shyly. 

"Why not?" He asked. He didn't know how Rick would interpret him not moving. Rick looked up from the floor at that. He had no clue that Stan would ask why. He expected Stan to either move his chair or not (he only noticed then that Stan had not moved and that honestly worried him) and call Rick a cynical asshole. Not this. Rick swallowed hard and but answered truthfully.

"Because that's not something I can make. I have made suns the size of tennis balls and I have never been able to do anything that I could consider 'making love'." Rick didn't sound angry, just tired "To make anything, both contributing parties have to have the right components. It might have been in the people I slept with but not me. I'm the problem. God or the universe or the six and a half ounces of defective cranial fluid in my skull have proven time and time again that I'm not allowed to feel that."

Rick paused as if he had only just heard himself.

"God, I sound pathetic. You don't want to hear this..."

"Yes, I wanna hear it and no, you don't seem pathetic." Stan said quickly. His eyes searched Rick like he was the most important puzzle in the world. Sliding over the man's body the way the pad of a finger dragged along the wall of an ancient ruin looking for a latch or toggle so the seeker could unleash the answers of the universe. 

There was nothing more Stan wanted than to end the stupid fucking game and kiss Rick before making love to him the way Stan had dreamed of for years. It was in Rick. He had felt it but the feeling was held back and stunted and Stanley had held back for fear of losing Rick. That had changed now. Stan sat up straight. His face was a study in determination. 

"Rick. I'm gonna get on that bed and I'm gonna show you there's more to you than you know." He smiled at the other man. "Next one. Come on. We're burning daylight here, Debbie baby."

Rick didn't know why but that scared him. His fight or flight response bristled and he tried to reconcile both by swinging his legs out to sit on the side of the mattress but gripping the bedsheet in his fists and spitting words that wanted to be hard but cracked frustratingly halfway through.

"You think so? You really think so? Cause I know a hell of a lot. Never have I ever let anyone in. I knew when they saw me, when they saw how ruined I was, it would all be over and it'd be my fault."

Stan's smiled and moved closer. 

"I've let people in and it does hurt when they prove you shouldn't have. But I don't regret any of them cause they helped me be who I am." He became a bit more somber but he still smiled. "I know that when it went wrong it wasn't my fault. I wasn't missing something. It's taken me a long time for me to see that. I kept you at arm's length cause I thought it was what you wanted. I'm sorry I was wrong. " He pinned Rick with warm dark eyes. "Let's go. We've wasted too much time."

"You think I wanted that? You think I want to cut myself off from people on a whim? I'm smarter than anyone on the planet and that makes me a pariah. It's cynical and it's conceded but true and I hate it." The words were pouring from Rick's mouth unbidden now, in a miasma of anger and regret and embarrassing openness. "Never have I ever really belonged. Anywhere. Abandoned is the word, but that doesn't cut it. I feel so much like a place where no one goes to. I am Chernobyl, Stan. I'm poison and I kill slow."

Rick didn't know what was worse, the fact that there was only three more rounds before the game was up or that Stan was already more than halfway there and he might actually win. He tensely waited on the sound or lack thereof of the legs of the stool scraping the floor in affirmation. Stan moved the stool forward, probably taking more space than he was supposed to but he had to have Rick.

"I've never belonged in a traditional sense but there were certain people who made me feel like I belonged. I belonged with them. You belong with me, Rick." Stan nodded for Rick to keep going.

That statement really shook Rick. It was both upsetting and incredibly cathartic to hear. He fought to believe it was true. He took a great gulp from his flask and almost choked as it worked its way down his too tight throat. He muscled it down anyway, draining the flask and tossing it aside. It sounded metallically on the floor, bouncing away into a dark corner.

"Fuck..." He half moaned, punctuating the expletive with a cough. He bent over, elbows on knees and head in his hands. This whole thing was overwhelming and Rick didn't know if he could handle it much longer. He had set this up with no intention of confessing as much as he had but now he had started he couldn't stop and he wanted Stan to hear it all.

Rick thought of the last time he believed he had belonged. He had run away then too and when he finally worked up the guts to return he was greeted by a manilla envelope full of paperwork attached to the front of the door in a plastic bag to protect them from the elements. He wasn't sure how long they had been hanging there but it had been long enough to leave a square stain on the door. The note on top told Rick in its articulate feminine scroll to sign them and that the locks had been changed and not to knock. Rick did as he was instructed and left. He put his spaceship in orbit and drank nearly nonstop for about a week. Rick felt the blood rushing from his face. He spoke, slowly and carefully.

"Never have I ever felt like I deserved anything good. People like me, people who know so much that nothing matters anymore, don't know what to do when confronted with something that just might. We are constantly waiting for the cosmic hand to come down and smash us to bits for daring to hope." Rick lifted his head and looked at Stan. His black eye had faded completely days ago but the red ringing his eyes now still looked hurt. He knew Stan's answer hadn't come yet but he didn't care as he pushed on "Never have I ever let myself be happy. Happiness is a myth. It's a chemical cocktail in our biology that tricks us into letting our guard down. But...you get me so damn close. And that terrifies me."

Stan dragged the stool almost to the bed. He looked Rick dead in the eye. He could smell his soap on Rick's skin and he wanted nothing more than to be in that bed. 

"When I told you the only reason no one can catch you is because you don't want to be caught I didn't mean that you were being chased. I meant you can fall back on someone sometime and they'll be there." He reached out and slid his hand into Rick's. "I want to make you happy."

Once again the terrible wonderful throb of emotion seemed to overtake Rick's whole body. He had no idea how long it had been building up but the outlet was so strong and sudden Rick could only equate it to the deadly shock of putting a hypothermia victim in hot water. An excruciating relief but too much, too fast. Rick couldn't catch his breath. Stan was close, So close their knees were all but touching and Rick's body radiated a sad desperate need for him.

"One more round." Rick whispered staring into Stan's eyes, his own stinging and his face hot.

"Hit me with it, babe." Stan said. He grinned in that cocky way he did when he had first asked Rick if he wanted company at the booth in the bar so many years ago. Rick's throat was dry and thick. He was weary and anxious and beneath all that truly hopeful. For the first time in a long time, Rick was not in strict control of his feelings and it felt incredibly liberating.

"After the last time....never did I ever believe I could love someone again." Rick told Stan. "And then I woke up next to you."

With that Stan surged forward and kissed Rick. He cradled Rick's jaw in one hand and with the other he squeezed Rick's hand and held it close to his chest over his heart. He pulled back just a little.

"Let me catch you?" He whispered. Rick couldn't speak. His jaw clenched hard against the last torrential wave of emotion as it tore over him and only managed to nod his head definitively before putting his hands behind Stan's head and guiding him onto the bed, laying back with Stan on top of him. He kissed Stan to keep from having to try and speak.

For a moment Stan thought of yanking off the towel just barely hanging on to his waist but decided he didn't want to push Rick. If it didn't move beyond kissing Stan would be fine with that. He had made it past Rick's walls and it was warm and inviting but fragile inside. Stan was ready to cherish every second in this new place. He wrapped his arms around Rick in the strongest protective embrace he could. Their legs intertwined as they lay vertically across the bed. Stan kissed Rick with everything inside of him.

Rick kissed back passionately. His whole body was trembling in Stan's grasp and he could scarcely remember a kiss this intense before. It amazed Rick that a kiss could be without lust but no less fervid. His hands ran through Stan's hair, mussing the damp locks. His heart was hammering in his chest. Rick caressed Stan's back and sides, just needing to feel his skin. His fingers slipped beneath the towel, opening and falling away from Stan's hip. Rick held on there softly. Stan couldn't help the breathy noise he made against Rick's mouth or the way his hips rocked against the man beneath him. He parted their kissing lips momentarily. 

"We can do whatever you wanna do. I just want to be here with you." Stan said softly trying to give Rick some control over all of this. He was planning on giving Rick a little space but those kiss swollen lips and that open loving look in Rick's eyes undid him. Stan kissed Rick again, relishing the other man's taste.

Rick couldn't have answered even if he had something to say. His brain was running possibly faster than it ever had before but it was awash in information that was not necessarily new but definitely unfamiliar. Mostly conceptually and on very few real life moments Rick had known these feelings but it was like stretching a weak muscle in the way it hurt so good and needed getting used to.

His hand brushed the towel way and it undulated over the small of Stan's back and his buttocks. He breathed in deep, filling his butterfly laden stomach and his chest rose to fill in the space Stan's gasp had left behind when he gently squeezed the suppleness of Stan's ass.

"Me too..." Rick agreed on the exhale. He continued to kiss Stan and gently urged him to roll away and change positions. Rick tossed away both their towels (even that move was gentle and carefully) and laid between Stan's legs, coming back to Stan's lips again and again as if he was returning to a source of oxygen that he had to sip from for fear of dying. Rick's hands returned to touching every part of the other man and he placed Stan's hands around his waist as his slim fingers found them on their lazy tour of Stan's arms and wrists.

The way Rick touched him had Stan in an absolute state. He could feel himself getting hard under Rick and he hoped it wasn't too much for the other man. His big hands gripped Rick's thin waist. Stan kissed Rick back each time. Little noises of appreciation escaped him as their tongues slid together. Rick spent a few incredible prolonged minutes just kissing Stan and grazing the pads of his fingers up Stan's body then following the same path down with his palms. He focused on nothing but the moment, cherishing each touch of lips and tongue in a weightless kind of perfection. Rick broke away, sitting up on his knees. He put his fingers in mouth, not twirling his tongue obscenely or trying to make a show but rather quickly doing what had to be done before he could capture Stan's lips again. He did so, sliding his hand between his and Stan's excited body and slowly pushed his middle finger in past Stan's tight ring of muscle.

"Ah!" Stan let out a little noise of surprise. The hand on Rick's waist gripped a bit harder and he spread his legs wider. "It's been awhile." He moaned softly against Rick's lips explaining away his actions. He looked into Rick's eyes before kissing him again. Rick nodded a bit before the kiss hit home. 

"Sure..." he said between kisses He broke away long enough to speak a moment longer before diving back in "Just let me know when."

Rick pressed his finger searchingly inside Stan. When he found the reaction he was looking for he began to stroke the spot that caused it with a kind of beckoning motion. Stan's breath hitched and his back arched as Rick found that spot. Stan was always selective with the men he let fuck him. He lost control when he was like this. It really just seemed easier to be the one doing the fucking. His head tilted back on the pillow as his hands slid up Rick's back. His fingers ran over a defined spinal column.

"Rick." He breathed before swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his exposed throat. Rick slipped his free hand under Stan's chin and kissed him softly, swallowing his name before it could echo into the room like a curse. Using the kiss to distract from any discomfort, Rick worked his forefinger in with its brother inside Stan. He worked them, coaxing the pucker to relax and feeling Stan's whole body respond to the massaging on his prostate. He was hard and the slightest touch on his skin from Rick made his member throb with a warmth expectant need. Rick's hand traveled along the course of Stan's jaw to hold on lightly to the nape of his neck where he kept Stan's head tilted into the kiss, deepening it. With care, Rick had managed to push both fingers in as far as they would go. The pad of his palm softly rubbed on Stan's testicles as Rick stroked the sensitive spot inside his partner.

Stan made needy panting noises into Rick's mouth as he was fingered. Rick had never taken such intimate slow care of him doing their past experiences. It had always been passionate and needy. This was giving. This was loving and it washed over Stan in exquisite waves of pleasure. His big hands moved over Rick's ribs and down over his stomach. He gripped the joint between hip and pelvis with one hand and with the other Stan ran his fingers over Rick's erection, his hips bucking slightly.

Rick's breath caught in his throat at the caress and after a moment he let it out in a warm contented sigh through his nose. He slid his hand down to hook over Stan's shoulder where he held on firmly. He scissored his fingers gently inside Stan and broke their kiss to gauge his reaction by the look on his face. All Rick wanted to do was touch and by touched tenderly and he only hoped he was doing well. Stan panted and looked up at Rick with arousal clouded eyes. He gently wrapped his hand around Rick's erection and stroked him in time with Rick's fingers inside him.

"God, you feel so good." He panted as he pressed his forehead to Rick's. Stan moaned and his eyes fluttered as Rick stroked him inside just right. "I need you" He sighed rolling his hips to get more of those fingers. Rick closed his eyes, in part from the tremendous ripple of pleasure Stan's touch brought to him and the sound of Stan's words.

"Say it again..." He all but purred. It wasn't a demand; one of Rick's smug little power plays. It just words of contented relief, imploring Stan to favor Rick with thoughts finally made solid by being spoken aloud.

The hand on Rick's hip moved to the back of Rick's head and held him in place. Both men only had eyes for each other and Stanley shifted ever so slightly so his large nose wouldn't bump into Rick's angular one. His lips were so close to Rick's.

"I need you. I want you." He said those things because he wanted to, not because Rick asked. There was more. So much more but Rick felt too raw for Stan to say it now. They'd have time to say all those things eventually.

Rick moaned behind closed lips. The words were hypnotic and at that moment Rick could deny Stan nothing. He set to work, licking his palm and stroking himself to spread saliva and leaking precum over his length. He removed his fingers and quickly repositioned to push into Stan. Though they had had sex many times before, Rick found himself awash in anticipation. He guided his member to Stan's hole and pushed in as smoothly as he could. He gasped a soft cry at the perfect tightness all around him. He was unable to look away from Stan's face.

"Ah! Yes!" Stan barked as Rick pushed into him. When Rick pushed his hand off his cock he had moved it to the back of Rick's neck holding him close as the other man pushed inside him. He hooked his legs over Rick's hips. Stan's whole body shook slightly as Rick slid all the way in.

Rick didn't move at first, the sensation of being fully seated inside Stan almost overwhelming him. This was the first time Rick had topped Stan since their weekend in the motel room and the warmth and pressure was delicious. Rick drew his hands up Stan's legs, starting at his shins and bringing them to rest on Stan's hips. He held on, not gripping but just enjoying the soft give of Stan's skin under his palms. Rick rolled his hips, setting up a slow meticulous rhythm. He exhaled in a breathy moan and laid his head on the pillow next to Stan's head. He made quiet throaty sounds of pleasure in Stan's ear.

Stan made little panting moans every time Rick pushed inside him. His hands slid down Rick's back. His lips pressed against those strong wirey shoulders as his hips rolled back against Rick's thrusts. This position felt foreign to Stan at first but the weight of Rick on him and the stretch of the other man inside him was reassuring and Stan's heart swelled and pounded in his chest.

Rick worked one hand under Stan, hooking it on Stan's shoulder for the leverage. He kept things at a mild pace to savor each measured roll of his hips and Stan's body moving beneath him. He kissed Stan's ear and sucked his earlobe into his mouth. A long low moan slipped from Stan at the feel of Rick's mouth. He ran his hands back into Rick's hair.

"Rick. God, Rick. Look at me, babe." He husked while caressing the nape of his lover's neck and sliding his fingers into the soft blue-grey hair. Rick moved his hand back to the mattress and pushed himself up enough to look at Stan. He continued to move but his thrusts were shallow now and he studied Stan's face, looking for a response.

"How you holding up, Stud? Am I doing alright?" He asked. It was a strange thing to hear coming from his mouth and it made him feel like a stupid unsure teenager. 

"Look at me. How do you think you're doing? " Stan panted. His face was flush with arousal as he smiled up at the other man. Stanley was the embodiment of physical love beneath Rick. As Rick pushed deeper inside him Stanley groaned. He pressed his sweaty forehead to Rick's. "Look what you do to me. I need you to see what you can make. Black holes and suns are beautiful and terrifying and so is this. You made this. It's in you, babe."

The Rick of only an hour ago would have focused on the terrifying, but right now all Rick could see was the beautiful in Stan laid out beneath him and, against all reason, in himself. The words resonated in Rick, shaking him to his core. He skin rippled in gooseflesh and a heartbeat suddenly doubled. How could his man, this plain human man, do something so profound to Rick, who had seen and done everything the universe had to offer? Rick didn't know and frankly, he didn't need the answer. He knew his cynicism would return in the morning. It was a part of him and that wouldn't change in one night but just now Rick couldn't be anything but overwhelmingly open. Rick, in this moment, lived for Stan with everything in him. 

Rick passed his hand over Stan's, pulling it from the back of his head. He kissed Stan's wrist and palm tenderly before lacing their fingers together on the bedsheets beside Stan's head.

"You're always telling me what a dummy you are then you say something like that? You ever try to call yourself stupid again, I'll kick your ass." He told Stan, kindly. With renewed confidence, Rick twisted his hips fluidly. The pleasure of their bodies was slow and building like a dwarf star collapsing on itself over the course of thousands of years and culminating in enough heat and light to reshape galaxies. A ragged moan slipped out of Stan.

"Oh fuck. Mmm... no one ever told me I was smart before," He chuckled a little and squeezed Rick's hand in his. "But I'll try for you." Stan's unoccupied hand cupped Rick's face and he tilted his own face to kiss his lover, his legs wrapped around Rick's waist to keep him close. Rick's mouth fell open into Stan's, sharing hot breath as their tongues curled together. He moaned into the other man's mouth and moved with more urgency. His thrusts were purposeful and smooth as he tried to prolong this mind blowing encounter. The sweat began to bead on Rick's shoulders in the hot early summer twilight.

Rick braced himself over Stan on his forearms. He drank in the man's cries of rapture. His own moans harmonized with Stan's and Rick couldn't help the feeling of pure closeness he had for Stan. He gazed at Stan's flush and panting face like a lover of art might study the precise brush strokes of a masterwork.

As a man who had had sex at really every speed and intensity, Rick knew what signs of pleasure to look for. He didn't want Stan to just come. He wanted Stan to feel good in every way that word meant before he did.

Stans big hands ran over Rick's back and hooked over the slim man's shoulders to give him some leverage to push back on his thrusts. He clung to Rick like the world was going to end any minute and he had to keep his most precious possession close and safe. Rick's shuddering moans were perfect vibrating against his lips and tongue as they kissed and it only added to Stan's arousal. He pulled away as Rick slammed that place inside him with a gasp and moan. His cock throbbed and twitched, smearing precum where it was trapped between the delicious friction of their bodies. Stanley growled and gritted his teeth. He hadn't felt this good in years.

Rick lower half was working on instinct now, pistoning hips plumbing Stan's depths. Rick's whole body trembled with each sound of bliss he beckoned from the man beneath him. He cradled Stan's head lightly in both hands and peppered kisses over Stan's fluttering eyelids and across his forehead and temple. He tasted Stan's sweat on his lips. His body and heart were overwrought.

"Oh, Stan..." He moaned in a drawn out affected half whisper. The sweat rolled down to the small of Rick's back leaving behind runnels of ticklish sensation on his skin that were quickly swept away by Stan's hot searching hands. Stan was pretty sure that was the first time Rick had said his name in bed and it wasn't Stanford. It was his name. His name being moaned lovingly. It pushed Stanley right to the edge. He gasped and arched under Rick.

"Rick! You're gonna make me cum!" He moaned pushing back harder. The need was so deep Stan could taste it.

"Go ahead...that's it. Cum for me, Stan..." Rick whispered, his voice strained. All the muscles in his core were pulling taught and preparing to let go, the stimulation so strong it was making Rick's body burn with cold fire. Clipped little panting gasps came from the back of Rick's throat in time with his thrusts. He muffled them in a long needy open-mouthed kiss.

Stan kissed back with those greedy kisses, his brain overloading at the feel of sweaty skin rubbing over his cock and the way Rick felt inside him. He felt himself careening over the edge. There were words Stan wanted to say to Rick. Words so scary and wonderful he'd held them inside so long. Stan's bulky body shuddered under Rick's as his cock throbbed and he peaked. A low growl made his tongue vibrate against Rick's. The growl turned into a moan. His body tightened around Rick's erection inside him.

That pressure all around him, slick and tight, was just too much for Rick and he gave a few more hard and jerky, out of rhythm strokes. He came hard enough to made his whole body tense and shake. He screwed his eyes shut and held the pillow on either side of Stan's head in a white-knuckled grasp. With a final satiated grunt, he finished and went limp in Stan's arms. Stan panted.

"This is where you belong, Rick. You belong with me." He whispered as he turned his head and nuzzled Rick's temple, peppering light kisses on the side of Rick's face. He unhooked his legs from around his lover's waist and let them rest on the bed but wound his arms tighter on the spindly body.

Rick didn't trust his mouth in that moment. This was right, this was real and Rick was incredibly protective of it. He was certain that if he said anything, he would ruin the beautiful thing that had just happened and the pure peace that was all around him now. Rick decided to let his actions do the talking. He gently moved enough to pull himself free from Stan, quietly loving the soft gasp it elicited from Stan and pulled them onto there sides. He slung his long leg around Stan's hip and twined his arms around his head, into his hair and clung, not caring for the sweat or mess or heat of the room. He kissed Stan lazily. Stan's kiss bruised lips felt full and succulent, like ripe sweet fruit. He pressed in close as the kiss parted, noses and foreheads touching but Rick did not yet open his eyes. Rick just held on tight, squeezing Stan like a frightened child with a comforting toy because it reminded Rick that he was here, true living flesh and Rick had him. After a long moment of this, Rick looked into Stan's eyes, unable to hide the consuming feelings of vulnerability and cautious contentment there. It was an expression of someone looking for sanctuary and only now just risking belief that they had found something like it.

Stan held onto Rick. He knew this was a lot for him and wanted to give him the time to process all of this. Stroking Rick's hair out of his face, he smiled at the way the other man looked at him. Never in his life had he thought he'd have world creating, species conquering, rock star Rick Sanchez looking at him like he was something amazing.

"You alright?" He asked softly after a moment. Rick blinked and furrowed his brow as if he was really considering it for a moment.

"I think so... I, uh...I don't know." Rick managed and then added "It was incredible, don't get me wrong. I just, I just have never had sex like that before."

Ricks words hung in the air and despite his own apprehension, he laughed. It was a warm and placid sound. He kissed Stan again quickly this time.

"Made love. For Christ sake, that's what I should be saying right now. Never made love like that before. Stubborn old asshole."

"You're my stubborn old asshole." Stan laughed. He kissed Rick softly again. He snuggled against Rick, tucking his head under the other man's angular chin. "Thanks. For making my bad day better." Stan paused for a moment, weighing his words. "I love you."

He closed his eyes and relaxed in Rick's grip. Rick's heart swelled. It was both scary and incredibly gratifying. He squeezed Stan again, softer this time and dipped his head to kiss Stan on the crown of his skull.

"You going to bed? Sun's barely down..." He said into Stan's hair, wanting to distract from the words he wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to. Stan looked up at Rick.

"Just resting. You wanna watch a movie or something?" He said. His hands running up and down Rick's back slowly. "We could get dressed and have a drink on the porch."

Rick tilted his head back and forth in theatrical consideration.

"Or, hear me out. We could not get dressed, get a drink and bring it back up here. Into the bed."  Rick said playfully, confidence back in a big way "Heard some car alarms earlier. Fender bender in the parking lot, huh? Just another part of your no good very bad day? You could tell me all about it. How long before some king of the road dad started swinging?"

Stan looked at Rick's outrageous smile and couldn't help but crack one of his own.


	7. Part 7

As always the alarm clock blasted Stan from slumber and he grumbled as he pulled away as far as the other man's grip would allow, to slam the off switch. He snuggled back down into bed and sighed before growling.

"I gotta get up babe. Lemme go." He softly kissed Rick awake. Rick growled something they sounded like 'there's no way' but Stan couldn't tell with Rick's face turned into the pillow. He put one arm under the pillow and the other around Stan and hugged them both tightly as if he were trying to bury himself in pillow down and con man. Stan kissed down Rick's neck with a chuckled.

"You're gonna make me late for work." He said but wasn't putting up much of a fight. "You can go back to sleep after and I'll check in between tours at lunch."

Rick squirmed at the soft wonderful touch of the lips on his neck but held on tighter as Stan tried to extricate himself. He shook his head fiercely and his hair tickled Stan's chest. Rick was mostly awake now but he continued to fight.

"Let em wait..." He grumbled somewhat petulantly.

"Alright. Enough games, Lover Boy." Stan started to pull away. He was always surprised at how strong Rick was even though he was so willowy. "Seriously Rick. I gotta shower. I smell like sex and booze from last night."

Rick breathed in through his nose, pressing his face into Stan's stomach and purred a satisfied sound.

"Mmm, yeah you do..." He said in a silly debauched way. He pinched lightly at Stan's love handles and kissed his stomach, enjoying the pleasant give of Stan's body. A little yelp escaped Stan as he was mid-eye roll.

"Hey! Stop pinching my fat." He grumbled. The feel of Rick's mouth on him put an end to any struggles. His fingers slid through wild grey hair that always stuck up comically in the mornings. "Mmm, come on. You didn't get enough last night? We must have gone three rounds at least."

"So soft..." Rick muffled into Stan's stomach. He was being difficult, he knew, but he had woken up with something akin to puckishness and had to act on it. His hand crept down to grasp one cheek of Stan's butt. He laughed devilishly and continued kissing Stan's flesh. Stan gasped as Rick grabbed his ass. But he gave Rick a slightly nonplus look.

"Yeah yeah. You're fucking the fat kid. I get it. Leggo of my ass."

Rick moved down to kiss and nibble at Stan's hip, unfazed by Stan's objections.

"S'my ass..." He rumbled playfully. He squeezed the globe of Stan's buttocks for emphasis and wheezed another impish little laugh. Despite a night of marathon sex, the sensations of Rick's hands and mouth and words went straight to Stan's cock. He cursed himself internally for his weakness.

"So you're claiming my ass now? Didn't know we were allowed to do that. What on you is mine then?" was Stan's cheeky reply.

Rick's eyes rolled up to look into Stan's with an unhidden lewdness. He took Stan by the wrist and gently guided it down under Rick. It was when he stopped with Stan's hand over a spot on Rick's chest did he let go. He had placed it with the accuracy of someone familiar with internal biology, putting Stan's palm over his sternum and his fingers off to the left. Rick wanted the proper area covered. The false alarm perverted expression melted into a cross of something that asked Stan to just think it was a joke and an unsure tenderness that begged Stan not to. Stan's own heart skipped a beat. It was in no way what he had expected but was the best thing he had ever seen. He pulled Rick up to him and kissed him hard and deep.

"Don't care if I'm late. Let 'em wait." He growled against Rick's lips before kissing him again.

"You're the boss, Boss. You make your own hours." Rick's laugh was dark and sweet like molasses. "'Sides, you've got to take a shower anyway. Get as dirty as you can first."

Rick crawled up into Stan's lap and held the man's face as he kissed him. Stan smiled into the kiss, grabbing Rick's ass to pull their groins closer together. He huffed a moan as their members rubbed against each other. 

"Mmm... You like when I'm the boss?" He huffed against Rick's lips. He kissed harder nipping at Rick's lower lip. Not to be outdone, Rick rolled his hips a little to find that delicious friction again. Electricity went lazily up his spine and he shuddered.

"Somebody's got to take the reins sometimes." He explained. Stan flipped them over and slammed Rick onto the bed. He growled into Rick's ear.

"You want me to take the reins and ride you HARD, Lover Boy?" He ground his pelvis against Rick's to emphasize the word "hard", groaning and growling into the other man's ear. Rick cried out at the touch. He placed a hand on the back of Stan's head and kissed his ear. He hooked one heel behind Stan's knee.

"Don't threaten me with a good time..." He cooed semi-sarcastically.

"Mmm..." Stan rumbled as he continued to rut against Rick. He took both of the other man's hands and laced their fingers together as he brought the hands up by Rick's head. 

"Stay." He said simply pressing the hands into the mattress. He loosened his grip and slid his hands down Rick's arms as he kissed down that slim hairless chest. "Move 'em and I'll leave for work." He warned then continued the downward travel. Rick arched his body into the touch of Stan's lips and sighed contentedly.

"I've got a feeling I'm in for a hell of a ride." Rick said, a playful sardonic sneer on his face. "Should I hold onto something?" 

Stan looked up at Rick. "You can hold on there if you need to." He nodded his head towards the metal footboard. "I'm serious about leaving if you break the rules. This is my game."

Stan nuzzled the trail of hair from his navel downward. Breathing in the smell of musk and sex and ozone. All Rick, pure and simple. Rick hissed in pleasure and anticipation. His hands snaked up to the rungs of the footboard and he twined his fingers around them. He was smiling but when he spoke it was a comical take of wistful nostalgia.

"Bossy bossy bossy. I think I've created a monster. I almost miss the mystique you had for me when we first met. You thought I was an alien..." He pretended to pout. Stan shouldered his way between Rick's legs forcing Rick to spread them almost lewdly to accommodate his breadth.

"Sometimes I still think you are. The way you draw me in, the way people just have to be near you. You act like you hate it but you turn into a fricken peacock when you're in the spotlight." Stan's broad tongue licked up the underside of Rick's erect cock. When he reached the tip he kissed it as if it was Rick's lips, sucking slightly as his tongue teased the slit in the end of the other man's cock. He looked up into Rick's eyes and there was a hint of that darkness the other man had seen in him on Slug Day.

Rick's legs moved in response, one falling off the side of the bed, where his toes nearly hung to the floor and the other bending up to give Stan more room to work. Rick hummed his satisfaction and it petered out into a low lush laugh. He flexed his hands on the bedposts and bit his lip, head rolling to the side. Stan licked up first one side of Rick's cock then the other. Unhurried languid strokes. Time didn't matter anymore.

"You want me to be the boss then complain when I take control." Stan rumbled his lips brushing over Rick's hard heated length.  Suddenly Stan slapped the inside of Rick's thigh hard and fast. A red handprint immediately blossoming on the pale skin. 

"Maybe you need to learn a little patience and respect." He chuckled as he went back to licking over Rick's cock. Stan's tongue passed over Rick's balls from time to time.

Rick didn't necessarily yelp when Stan struck him but the sound was high and surprising. The shock gave way to a wonderful warmth. He chuckled again like the victim of a practical joke that was being a good sport.

"It's not in my nature." He told Stan affably. Rick relaxed one leg to drape over Stan's back. "I have to rebel or I die like how a shark has to keep swimming."

"Then maybe we'll start with patience." Stan said darkly. His tongue moved over Rick, following every vein slowly like it was mapping out a journey. Stan's thumb kneaded over Rick's perenium while one thick finger of the same hand teased over Rick's asshole. Stan hummed appreciatively as he placed sucking kisses up one side of Rick's cock. Rick squirmed and sighed, not bothering to hide how good it felt.

"Fine by me. Take your time. I'm not the one on a schedule here." He said between shuddering breaths. He liked the little battle of wills they had set up. It was flirtatious and familiar without straying too far into the romantic. Rick had let his walls down many times last night and while they were not back up he wasn't entirely comfortable with his newfound tenderness. It would take time, he knew and that was time he was willing to put in but until then Rick was glad he and Stan still knew how to play. Rick was hard and twitching against Stan's lips. Stan shrugged Rick's leg off his shoulder.

"Like you said. I'm the boss. They'll figure it out." Stan gave Rick another hard slap to the thigh, landing this swat in the same place as last time. "Stay." He growled.

Rick gave a stricken "Ah!" this time and writhed a moment longer before stilling as best he could. He twisted his hands on the metal rungs, wanting to pounce upon Stan but doing as he was told. The red mark on his leg throbbed and made a wonderful counterbalance to Stan's expert mouth.

"Goddamn..." He hushed, his excitement evident. Stan smirked at Rick's exclamation. He'd never had a lover who was interested in pain before. It could be interesting to see how far Rick would go but not this morning. Stan pulled away and leaned over to his bedside drawer. He pulled out a small jar of Vaseline. A holdover from his boxing day. A thin layer of Vaseline on the face made it less likely for boxing gloves to scuff the face leaving cuts that could bleed into eyes or become annoying. 

He laid back between Rick's legs as he opened the jar. He licked up Rick's cock as he slicked up his fingers. Stan licked over Rick's balls as his fingers pressed into Rick. He knew Rick could handle two fingers right away. He slowly fingered Rick as he continued to tease Rick's erection with his lips and tongue, never sucking; never taking Rick fully into his mouth. Rick moaned and twisted into Stan's fingers. A bead of precum leaked from him, sitting on display like a pearl set into a piece of jewelry. He looked past it with fascination at Stan and the teasing work of his tongue.

"Christ, that's hot..." He said in a throaty voice. He held onto the bedposts even tighter. Stan made a happy rumbling sound in his chest. He licked up to the tip watching Rick as he lapped up the precum. Their eyes locked. Stan pressed in a third finger. He didn't push deep enough to hit that spot that would send tingles through Rick's body. He only stretched and massaged the other man with slow steady strokes. He sucked hard on the tip of Rick's cock for just a moment before returning to the long seductive licks.

"Come on...what are you waiting for? You know you want this..." Rick hoped he didn't sound like he was whining and that the taunt would deflect any accusations of begging but he didn't know how much longer he could keep it together. Stan looked up with a hint of that dark look again.

"I wanna hear what you want, Lover Boy. You know I want you. I wanna hear you say it." He moved his fingers just a bit faster before slowing them back down again. 

"You're so hot and wet." Stan growled with his lips against Rick's bobbing erection. "Is that for me?"

Rick smiled toothily and flexed against Stan's fingers. His demeanor became that of someone dared to put their hand in the tiger cage and had fingers to spare.

"Oh, you want to hear it? You think I have any problem talking dirty? I want you so bad it makes me go cross-eyed. You better put your mouth on my dick or your dick in my ass. Or both, believe me that'd be pretty damn impressive." He added that comment almost as an afterthought before pressing on "I'm not begging you and I'm not saying pretty please. I'm telling you I want you, Stan. I want you to fuck me until I howl. Raise the ghost of Conway Twitty from the fucking dead! But either way, you better do it soon because you're making me crazy!"

Smiling, Stan slid his fingers out of Rick and moved up the other man's body. He grabbed a fist full of blue-grey hair and yanked hard before giving that same spot on the tall man's thigh another slap.

"I will make you beg one of these days. Just not today." He growled against Rick's throat before slamming his cock into the other man, fucking him hard and fast. Rick cried out raggedly. He moaned and arched and held the bedpost in a white knuckled grip.

"That's right... You, ah! You just keep on dreaming, stud!" He panted in Stan's ear.

"Shut up, Sanchez." He growled and pounded into Rick as hard as he could. He wrapped his hand around Rick's cock and stroked him hard. He sucked on Rick's throat, leaving marks in his wake. Rick's face was flushed and his eyes wild. He gave a long drawn out moan and what sounded like the thrilled whoop of a roller coaster rider.

"Make me, Pines!" He managed. He twisted up into Stan's touch but never let go of the footboard's rungs. He panted affirmatives and foul-mouthed encouragement, unhindered by the fear that anyone would hear him. Stan held Rick in place by his hair as he hammered away at him. Marks of Stan's ownership graced Rick's neck like a lewd string of red gems. 

"I love how you fight back." Stan husked as he felt Rick's cock throb in his hand. "It's why I never wanted another man after you. You make me work. You make me fight. You make me better and stronger." He brought his lips to Rick's but stopped just before kissing him. "One day I am gonna make your brain turn off even if it's only for two Goddamn seconds. I love you Rick but you're gonna beg for me one day."

Stan kissed Rick with a hot needy mouth. He fought back his own orgasm as he gripped Rick's cock a bit tighter and his thumb rubbed over the precum leaking tip with each stroke. The words and kisses were like candy to Rick and he ate them up greedily. He opened his legs as wide as he could to let Stan push in deeper. He was barreling toward another orgasm and he had no intention of trying to prolong it. Stan pulled away just a bit. 

"Let go." He growled as he felt his own cock throb. Stan couldn't hold back anymore. He gritted his teeth as the sensation shot up his spine and straight to his brain. He threw his head back and moaned deep and loud, his thrusts deep and arrhythmic. Rick didn't know if Stan was talking about his hands or his sex but he didn't care. He buried his hands into Stan's hair and kissed him hard. He tipped his head back and wailed in pleasure drowning out the creak and bounce of the bed springs. His toes curled and his body stiffened. His breathless excited yelps came in time with Stan's thrusts as Stan rode him through orgasm. Stan's cock felt indescribably good pushing into his tightening hole.

"Ooh, fuck...!" Stan grumbled as he laid on top of Rick. He pressed his face into Rick's neck and wrapped his arms around him, his hips still twitching. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Stan's brain was slowly rebooting but he was enjoying the feel of them being wrapped up together. He tried to catch his breath but also had to kiss Rick. Rick kissed back around his own slowing breaths and for a moment they were like two half drowned men trying to give each other mouth to mouth resuscitation. Rick brushed his fingers over Stan's tousled hair and unshaven cheeks and just luxuriated in the feel of the other man. He liked the feeling of their chests rising and falling together.

"A plus." He huffed when Stan dropped his head to the side again. Stan could hear the smile on Rick's face. "A plus, plus..."

"That was... Very good. Very new." Stan chuckled. "Fucking or lovemaking, it always feels good with you." Stan turned his face and kissed Rick's cheek. He turned his head a bit more and blanched when he saw the time.

"Shit! Fuck! Babe, let me go. I gotta get to work."

Rick laughed lightly and held on just a second longer.

"Isn't this where we started?" He teased but let go anyway. "Hey, man, late's late. Two minutes or two hours, doesn't make a difference. Rick's impishness hadn't given up the ghost and he swatted playfully at Stan's ass as he got up. Stan snatched up a towel from the floor and wrapped it around his waist. Hurriedly, he pulled the pieces of his Mr. Mystery outfit together.

"Yeah, but it looks bad when the boss is late cause he was having loud morning sex with his gay lover. When teenagers are on time and you're late it's time to throw in the towel." He rushed back to the bed to grab his fez off the bedpost where Rick had placed it the night before.

"Good idea! Throw that bad boy in and come back to bed!" Rick pointed at the towel around Stan's waist. He laid on his side and rested his head on his hand, looking proud despite his frightening hair and sex dirtied body. He knew Stan was beyond coaxing but that didn't mean he wasn't going to give him a hard time. Stan put his fez on his head and leaned over to kiss Rick. It was slow and deep and perfect.

"I love you." He said looking at Rick with soft loving eyes. Then hurried out the door.

Rick jaw hung open the slightest bit after Stan kissed him. He hadn't been expecting the sweetness after such a hard session. He watched Stan go then fell back onto the bed, looking at the ceiling. He was astounded how Stan was also bandying about the I love you's. Now that he had said it once, Stan had decided to let the flood waters rush out the dam of his mouth. Did he expect Rick to say it back? Now Rick knew he had said a lot last night. He had pretty much expressed everything up to and except those words but he was pretty sure he couldn't. Rick put both his hands over his mouth at the thought as if the words would fly unbidden from his lips.

Rick could understand why people associated falling in love with being shot with an arrow. Not in the way that it was sudden or painful. Rick had had what he could call love affairs teetering in the confines were it was more love and less affair that had been relatively painless and short as Rick had kept them and even his own attachment to Stan had quietly grown to its current form over the course of weeks and really, if Rick was honest with himself, years. What reminded Rick of being shot was the strange sensation that something was lodged in your chest. The feeling of a foreign object you didn't really want gone. That as time went on, muscles and sinew would grow over it and the body would accept it.

Rick rolled over and searched the room for his cigarettes. He only then remembered they were in his pants in the bathroom. He laid back down, sighing hard. His flask was empty too. Rick had no distractions to keep him from thinking about that sweet, open kiss Stan had given him. Leave it to Stan to make things sappy and fill Rick's head with a warmth he hadn't allowed in in years.

He wanted to blame it on the sex and the chemical thrill of the dopamine holding his brain hostage but Rick would be lying if he said he didn't feel this way about Stan more and more. In the way Stan joked with him and the way Rick caught himself studying Stan's face when he wasn't looking. Even in the moments where they would sit on the porch and watch the ever-present forest swallow up the late day sun, not touching, not speaking; just two people alive and thriving off of each other's company the way plants silently thrive off light. Rick as much as he hated the word, was smitten. Dinner at six, two toothbrushes by the sink smitten and he was even beginning to enjoy it. 

Another part of Rick reminded him of his ankle. It would heal soon then Rick would have a choice to make. He was a gypsy at heart and in his own words, stagnated in mediocrity. Did he really think he could survive letting himself be kept in something akin to marital bliss? Sharks had to keep moving or they would die. He knew Stan couldn't be convinced to come with him. It hadn't work ten years ago when Stan was in a much worse place and it wouldn't work now. It was the classic struggle of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Rick tossed an arm over his eyes, blocking out the morning sun. He felt the arrow in his heart being absorbed just a little more and the infection it caused in his blood creep inches closer to his brain.

"Oh, this is bad..." He sighed. But it was the nicest bad he had ever encountered.

 

  
Stan's day was much better than it had been yesterday. He had said what he was feeling to Rick. He had said it unapologetically and with true sincerity and he felt all the better for it. He had gotten to see Rick twice during the day. The first time when he stopped into the house to grab a quick lunch (Rick had warmed up leftovers from a trip to the diner a couple of days earlier) and was surprised to see several books and that old note pad he had seen Rick scribbling on the day before laying out on the tv room table. Stan furrowed his brow and was about to ask Rick what he was doing but the tall man had ushered him out the door and into the gift shop. He had thought it was odd but odd was a nice word one could use for Rick. 

The next time he had seen Rick was right before closing when he came in with his cane and limped over to the cash register for the receipts and cash drawer. Melissa said something to Rick but Stan couldn't hear it from where he was standing and a customer asked him a question so he was distracted for whatever came next. By the time the customer left Rick was gone and Melissa was red-faced and almost in tears. She snatched her bag and stormed over to Stan. 

"Your friend is a real asshole, Mr. Pines. I quit! " She said before stomping out the door.  Stanley gave an exasperated sigh and followed her. 

"Listen, kid," He said as they stood outside the door in the grass by the edge of the woods. "I'll tell Ricardo not to come for the receipts anymore." 

"I don't wanna be anywhere near him." The young woman had tears on the verge of spilling from her eyes.

"He won't even come into the gift shop during your shifts, ok? Besides he's -" Stan paused as this thought dawned on him. "He's almost healed up so he'll be leaving soon. A week at most."

Stan swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat but kept his emotions in check. Melissa wasn't placated by this. 

"He had hickeys all over his neck. Why were you late and what was all that noise this morning?" There was venom in her tone this time. Stan almost looked surprised for a moment but he flipped the con man switch and smiled at her in the way adults sometimes smile at small children when they tell silly stories. Entertained and a bit condescending. 

"What are you getting at, kid? Ricardo went out drinking last night. You're almost an adult. I can guess you're old enough to know what can happen sometimes when people go out drinking and meet someone. He's a grown man he can do what he wants. We got in a fight this morning cause he drove my car back drunk last night. Guy's already been in one car accident. I'm not letting him ruin my baby." Melissa's expression had softened a bit but she still looked unsure if she believed Stan. Mr. Mystery placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "He was pretty hung over this morning that's why he was so mean. I'm not excusing his behavior, just explaining. I promise he won't talk to you again."

He smiled at the young woman hoping that he had smoothed things over a bit. The look she gave him before pulling out of his grasp was sympathetic but guarded. She walked to the beat up hand me down pick up truck she drove and, just before climbing in, she looked back at Stan. 

"You're a good guy, Mr. Pines. You can do better." With that, she climbed into the cab and turned on the truck. Stan put his hands on his hip while shaking his head and laughing as if what she said was funny and not terrifying. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Melissa." He called after the truck as it pulled out of the parking lot. Stan rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about how he was going to tell Rick that Melissa had figured things out. 

Walking back inside, Stan locked up and went to look for Rick. After twenty minutes Stan had searched the whole house and still couldn't find Rick. There had been a horrible moment when Stan thought he has ruined everything by being over emotional and Rick had run off. Three "I love you's" in less than twenty-four hours was a lot but Stan was a passionate guy. He couldn't help it. He remembered the time in high school when he had pulled Ford into the janitor's closet for a make-out session shortly after things had escalated between them. He felt like he couldn't wait another second to kiss Ford and it had been worth the detention for skipping class. 

Stan pushed the thought of Ford out of his head. He also pushed down any thought that Rick had left. His boots were still by the door and he trusted Rick not to just leave now. 

A thought occurred to Stan as to where Rick could be but it seemed highly unlikely that Rick had gone there. On the other hand, there was nowhere else he could be in the house. Stan went into the gift shop and punched his code into the vending machine and low and behold the lantern was at the bottom of the steps. 

When the elevator doors opened Stan wasn't surprised to see Rick down in the portal room but he was confused.

"Rick. What are you doing?"

Rick was poking around the various panels of the portal control room. It was decisive and sparse like someone in a gallery being told not to touch the art and waiting for the security guard to look away before rebelling. He looked over his shoulder and favored Stan with a mild smile.

"Bored. Been living with PBS and pulp novels forever. I need something to stimulate my brain and I figured the abandoned mad science lab just might be the place to look." He told Stan and returned to pursuing the dead dials and readouts around him. Stan walked further into the room with a mildly bewildered look. He was so accustomed to this room but it had been weeks since he's been down here.

"I had a feeling you'd get bored but I didn't think I'd find you down here. Be careful. I got zapped pretty bad right before you got here." 

The thought that Rick could fix the portal left a mildly unpleasant taste in his mouth. Both because he had put so much time into this that he wanted to figure it out and if Rick fixed the portal and Ford came back what would Stanley do? Would Ford still want him? Would he still want Ford or would he pick Rick? Would Rick even care? It was all mind boggling and Stan really didn't want to think about it right now.

"That's half the fun." Rick grinned. He flicked a few switches and when nothing happened he shrugged and turned away. He passed Stan to head to the elevator.

"Unless you've got a baking soda volcano in your pocket, I'll try again down here after dinner. Left the receipts on the kitchen table. I'll get to those first if you wanna cook..." He said. Stan followed after Rick. 

"Well, considering you can't cook I guess it's up to me." While they waited for the elevator to open, Stan looked at Rick. "Melissa noticed the hickeys." He said quietly. Rick was wearing his customary jeans paired with a fun run shirt from some local charity with a v neck. All the red marks from that morning were clearly on display. "Don't think she believed the story I told her but I don't think she'll say anything."

Rick entered the elevator and waited for Stan to enter before pressing the button.

"Of course she didn't. I told her you gave them to me." He said coolly. He looked ahead at the cage doors as they closed. Stan stared gobsmacked at Rick for a moment then his brow creased as he thought of what Melissa has said before driving off.

"I guess that explains a few things but why would you say that? And what did you say that almost made her cry?" A few weeks earlier the thought of anyone knowing would have sent Stan into a fit but now he was sick of hiding. The Duskertons had passed away weeks ago and the rest of the town knew him. He might not do too bad as the town queer. Might even attract new clientele. Rick shrugged and leaned against the elevator's wall as it ascended.

"All I told her is if she didn't want anybody to find out about her girlfriend, she should be better at hiding it. She only really got upset when I told her she was stupid if she thought anyone with eyes would think she was straight." He said. His tone was defensive but not overly so.

Stan blinked a few times as his brain processed what Rick was saying.

"She's not straight?"

Rick looked at Stan in a long-suffering way.

"Listen. Every day when I got the receipts from her she thought I was looking at her chest, right? Well, I wasn't. I was looking at her beeper on her belt. God knows it's kind of oblivious to not remember where your own beeper is. I mean I'd probably not realize if my own massive titties were in the way. Anyway, every day right at closing, _when she would be free_ -" Rick emphasized that phrase before continuing "- she'd get a page from the same number. She didn't acknowledge it which means she was probably expecting it. And every time the message was 143. That means 'I love you'. Beeper code 101."

The elevator came to a stop and Rick stepped out. He waited at the bottom of the steps for Stan. He could navigate them himself but didn't want to risk the slim chance he'd fall without someone to catch him nearby.

Stan was a bit baffled by all this. Secret codes and "beepets" and the fact that his very straight seeming cashier was actually a lesbian. Maybe he needed to learn a thing or two.

"So that proves what? She's got a boyfriend, right?" Rick continued, his brain now fully involved with explaining his findings "Sure, you could assume that but I don't know about you, but I've never met a teenage boy named Jennifer. Her high school ring says 'Jennifer' on it and I bet you there's a girl in town wearing an identical one except for Melissa's name carved in the side. That, plus some truly sappy doodles on leftover receipt paper, not to mention the Melissa Ethridge patch on her bag and there it is. Call me Sherlock Holmes."

Rick reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the vending machine door, unworried if anyone was around to see. He turned back to Stan, striking a pose that seemed to want a 'tada' to go with it. His smile was pompous yet charming. Stan looked at Rick a bit stunned as he walked through the door. 

"Jeez. I didn't even notice that stuff. I always felt like I'm the only one like this. Except at Palmer's but after they burned it down I lost touch with everyone." Rick's brow shot up and he watched Stan quizzically. Stan blanched when he realized what he said.

"Nothing happened. They were just friends." Stan added quickly turning back to Rick. It dawned on him what Stan meant and while there was a momentary flash of what could have been jealousy it passed and what remained was surprisingly tactful.

"You said you didn't take anyone home. I believe you. I get it, It's nice to have people you don't have to lie about yourself too, especially on a backwards narrow-minded little planet like this. That's kinda why I told Melissa about us. Dumb girl must be petrified. It's not the dark ages anymore but kids still get thrown out all the time for coming out to their parents. Thought it'd be nice if she had somebody like you in her corner. But then she got all defensive and bitchy and I told her if she was going to be so uppity about being queer she could try not to be so sloppy. But, ah well..." Rick seemed to deflate at that. He took a step towards Stan and placed a hand on the man's shoulder.

"So you really went back to Palmer's?" He asked. His face was relaxed but also the smallest bit sad. He looked at Stan a second before looking away. He wore a look of self-conscious nostalgia. "How's our booth?"

Stan rubbed the back of his neck in a worried way. At least Rick hadn't blown up at him. 

"I only went back for my coat. I left it behind when we headed for the motel, remember? I liked that coat." He said sheepishly. "I couldn't believe it was there weeks after we'd been there but there it was behind the bar. And then, ya know, I thought -" Stan blushed because to admit to this after so long felt so intimate. Even the I love you's paled in comparison at how vulnerable this confession made Stan feel. He sighed and continued. 

"I thought that maybe because of the drugs and the drinking you couldn't find your way back here but maybe you had been to back Palmer's, so I asked around. They said they hadn't seen you but they remembered you. You're a hard guy to forget." He smiled up at Rick feeling a bit like a lovesick teenager. "I'd stop in from time to time hoping I'd run into you or someone would see you and tell you I was looking for you but I got nothing. I did make friends though. It was nice not to be alone for a bit. I'm not gonna lie and say I never got hit on but I'd tell 'em I was waiting for someone. Got to be a bit of a joke actually. As for our booth.... I never liked to sit there. It wasn't the same without you. I'd always steer myself to the bar. I just couldn't do it. Pretty pathetic, huh?"

Stan laughed at himself and shoved his hands in his pockets while shrugging his shoulders. He was clearly uncomfortable but also happy to admit the whole thing.

Rick leaned in and kissed Stan, not on the mouth but high on his cheekbone. Rick's hand crept up behind Stan's neck and Rick pulled him just close enough to rest Stan's forehead on his shoulder. He held Stan there a moment, fingers twisted gently into Stan's close-cropped hair and the two stood there in the gift shop, deafeningly quiet. After a moment Rick stepped back, his hand sliding back down to Stan's shoulder where he squeezed it. It was done with reverence, a non-intimate act being presented in an intimate way. Rick looked at Stan with that beautiful kind of moroseness that colored many of Rick's more sentimental moments and Stan could tell that while it was difficult for Rick to do, it was his best attempt at showing Stan some real true tender affection.

Stan accepted this small gift from Rick and held the experience close to his heart. He slid his hand into Rick's and gave it a little squeeze before asking, "What do you want for dinner?"

 

  
Another week rolled over the Shack as easy as the summer breeze through the leaves and needles of the trees. Melissa didn't come back the next morning. Partly as a punishment for being so blunt with her and partly out of desperation to just open, Stan planted Rick on a barstool behind the cash register and hurriedly told him how to run the cash register. Rick sourly waved him off, explaining that if he could create a microverse battery and a rabbit with ultrasonic ears (he refused to explain either of those to Stan) then he could work a cash register as well as any burger flipping teenager.

For the following eight hours, Rick ruled the gift shop with an iron fist. He told off unruly children and demanded mothers wrangle their human larvae. He grumbled at the customers approaching the cash registers and shut down the small talk that plagued the retail workers the world over with his own brand of unapologetic cynicism. 

After Rick's day out on Stan's tour and the few times he had accompanied Stan into town for food at the diner, word of the insult comic working at the Mystery Shack must've spread through town and to the tourists passing through on their way to the Shack. The people were eating it up, to Rick's initial dismay, laughing at the barbs slung at them or the people with them.

Before he knew it, Rick noticed that people seemed to be buying things just to come up to the sales counter and get their own little routine. At last, Rick decided that if people were going to be gluttons for punishment, he would take it as a get out of jail free card and fulfill their expectations. It was cathartic in a way.

Stan was amazed at how packed the gift shop was when he went to check on Rick. After closing up, Stan nearly fainted when he saw the daily receipts. He joked that maybe he should put Rick on the register every day but the acidic look Rick shot him told Stan that wasn't an option. 

As the two men finished up, there was a knock on the closed gift shop door. Stan was surprised to see a remorseful looking Melissa and a grumpy looking girl standing behind her. Stan surmised that this must be Jennifer. 

Jennifer gently prodded Melissa and the former employee apologized and asked for her job back. She explained she needed the money for when she left for college in Portland after the summer. Stan put on the air of the ambivalent parent and told her she could come back as long as he didn't catch her slacking off and she didn't cause any trouble. 

Melissa hugged Stan. It was quick and she was blushing after but she thanked Stan. She gave Rick, who had been hanging back during the conversation, a stern look then said to Stan "I still think you can do better." 

Rick gave the young woman a snide smile and draped an around Stan's shoulder and leaned in to kiss the shorter man's temple right under the fez. 

"Well, he doesn't." He told Melissa. Stan blushed. He wasn't good with public displays of affection but he smiled and gave a half shrug as he wound an arm around Rick's waist. Jennifer grabbed Melissa's hand and pulled her back to the truck. Both girls were smiling and feeling like things were going to get better.

After that, all was right in the world. The Shack ran like clockwork as summer ramped into the busy season. Starting Fourth of July weekend, Stan said he would be keeping the Shack open until eight and Rick tried to convince Stan otherwise, blatantly admitting that it was because that would cut into Rick's time with him. Stan did not concede but was touched by Rick's honesty.

One afternoon, as a dare, Rick convinced Stan to let him pull his Ricardo Sanderson act on a tour again, this time trading verbal blows like seasoned vaudevillians each taking turns as the straight man. The whole thing had an added air of humor for them as the tourists laughed, not being in on the biggest joke of the act.

Rick was also beginning to rise before Stan now. He had apparently found something to pique his interest down in the portal room and used the time before the Shack opened to tinker with it. He wasn't working on the portal itself, but rather seemed to be more engrossed in research. 

The few times Stan had been curious enough to look in on Rick, nothing was out of place and Rick was sitting with his feet up on the portal's control panel, jotting things down on the legal pad that had been making appearances in Rick's possession more and more often. The sight of Stan would cause Rick to put it down and abandon whatever it was he was working on in favor of breakfast or some other distraction.

It was on one of these early mornings that Rick had come stumbling up into the shower with Stan, not bothering to take off his clothes and wrapped his arms tightly around Stan's chest. When Stan tried to ask him what was wrong, Rick didn't answer, only electing to bury his face in Stan's shoulder and kiss his tattoo over and over again. Stan was baffled by Rick's behavior.

"You never told me it wasn't a tattoo..." Was all Rick offered, his clothes sticking to his lean form and water running into his eyes. Stan, now understanding what had set Rick off, put his big hands over Rick's and leaned back into the other man's arms as he trembled behind him.

It was later that day that Rosa Ramirez showed up to clean the house. She had been told by Stan on previous visits that she didn't need to go to the attic as that's where his house guest was staying and she had followed the instructions to the letter. She often gave Rick thinly veiled looks of skepticism and seemed impervious to Rick's attempts to charm her but eventually she would favor him with a few words in English. 

This particular morning she showed up with a very pudgy, sleeping five year old on her hip. Rick raised an eyebrow as he opened the door to her but Rosa quickly explained that it was her grandson and his mother was at the doctor and since his good for nothing father was never around she had to bring the little boy along. Before Rick knew what was happening Rosa had bustled him into the tv room and pushed him into the easy chair before depositing the little warm bundle of sleeping child into his lap. She sternly warned him to not wake the sleeping child before thanking Rick with a smile and hurrying off to the kitchen to start her work.

Rick sat there, blinking and wondering if that woman really was a witch. He looked down at the little boy with his pudgy cheeks and his dinosaur t-shirt and he slowly put his arms around the little boy. He remembered sitting up with his daughter, Beth, when she'd been sick, right around this age. How her weight had been reassuring and scary all at the same time. He leaned back in the chair and rubbed the little boy's back when he stirred. Before long he found himself humming quietly and closing his eyes. 

Stanley couldn't believe the sight before him as he walked into the tv room from the gift shop. Rick was snoring softly with Rosa's grandson asleep in his lap. Rosa stood in the doorway and signaled to keep quiet. Stan walked over to Rick and she chuckled a bit about how cute they both were and touched Stan's shoulder before commenting that Rick wasn't such a bad man before going into the laundry room.

Rick's eyes blinked open sleepily at the sound of people moving around. When he saw Stan watching him with that dopey lovesick look he'd get sometimes, Rick rolled his eyes telling Stan he was only doing this because he was sure that woman is really a witch and she'd turn him into a toad or something if he woke up the kid. Stan laughed and shook his head as he went back to work.

 

  
Rick was not surprised by the passage of time. Each day was more comfortable and Rick relished it. He didn't make any more excuses for his softer moments with Stan. Kisses did not need a sensible reason and in general Rick's physical attentions were less in the camp of lust and without pretense. Rick felt less and less as if he were invading the Shack and more like a regular fixture and he was more than willing to accept that.

It was a Wednesday when Rick found the guitar. The Shack was closed and he and Stan had spent a lazy afternoon watching television, Stan in his easy chair and Rick on the floor in front of Stan. It had kind of become his customary spot and Rick liked it. He could rest with his back against the chair, between Stan's spayed legs and sling his arms over Stan's knees comfortably. Sometimes Stan would even fondly rest a hand on Rick's elbow and Rick enjoyed the contact. Somewhere along the way, Rick looked over his shoulder to see that Stan had nodded off and was snoring softly, his chin dipped down onto his chest.

Rick sighed and patted Stan's leg in an amused doting kind of way. He watched the ho-hum program a bit longer but then decided if he watched it any longer he too might fall asleep. Rick lifted himself to his feet and left the room. Rick found he was favoring one leg much less as of late, but he still wore his bandage and carried his cane. It might have been more of an affectation by this point but Rick didn't offer that information freely.

Rick wandered the house without a real destination. He checked drawers and opened doors in rooms he hadn't yet explored. Rick noted for such a small place there were certainly a lot more rooms than there should've been. That mixed with some of the freaky people around town and sighting of what Rick could only describe as a garden gnome scurrying past into the brush once during his evening cig and Rick was willing to believe that this little chunk of the multiverse might be less full of shit than his earlier research had led him to think.

He opened a downstairs closet and amongst the dust and clutter found a milk crate full of records. The Eagles and Fleetwood Mac which Rick could take or leave but there was also Tom Lehrer, which was always good for a laugh, The Talking Heads first album,  and even some late Beatles. Rick dragged the crate out and from behind it a large black guitar case fell from where it must've been lodged in the back of the closet. It hit the floor with a discordant clang. Rick looked at the scuffed dusty case and then behind him, perhaps to see if the sound had woke Stan. When nothing came of it, Rick got down to examine his new find. The case was imitation alligator skin and riddled with bumper stickers. There was one for the Grand Ole Opry and another of the Tennessee state flag. R. Crumb's Mr. Natural smiled up through his long beard at Rick. 

Rick opened the case. The fuzzy mustard colored lining was a little torn and the shape of the guitar's neck and strings was impressed into the foam in the lid. Rick studied the acoustic guitar itself. It, like the case, looked second hand and while it could be argued that it was well loved, it was not well maintained. Two of the tuning peg caps were gone and on the head, as if scratched there with a pin, were the the initials FHM.

The yellow wood was scratched and dull and someone, possibly the person who decorated the case, thought it prudent to hide a rougher patch toward the bottom with a circular NASA decal. Rick picked up the guitar by the neck and noted the loosened and hanging low E string and the wobbling untrimmed ends of the others, flopping from the top like unruly wire hair. It was beat up and probably decades unplayed but it was not at all unfixable as far as Rick could tell. 

He flipped it over to look for any other substantial damage; cracks in the neck or body that could affect the sound. He only found two more bumper stickers. One that had been placed sheepishly near the bottom that read "Computer Scientists Do It One Byte At A Time" in dayglow orange and green letters and emblazoned in the middle like a calling card, a sticker for Backupsmore University. This guitar belonged to The Brother. 

Rick sneered and almost shoved the instrument violently back in the case. He even considered throwing the whole thing out into the woods to be destroyed by the elements and whatever other weird things were apparently lurking out there. But Rick stopped and took a breath, reconsidering his options. The guitar wasn't the first thing of The Brother's that Rick had co-opted into his own life. He was living in the man's house, had worn his clothes and was currently sleeping with his brother and first love. Finders keepers, a shallow childish part of himself advised. It was something of interest to Rick on this quiet afternoon and it wasn't like The Brother would be coming back anytime soon to claim it so there was no need to shoot himself in the foot when a new project to occupy his mind had arisen. It would be useless to Rick gathering dust in the closet and there was a nagging part of him that refused to leave something like this unexplored because of pride and latent jealousy.

Rick packed everything up and walked it to the porch. He figured he could enjoy the weather and if the flare of distaste for The Brother's belongings proved too strong, he would be in a prime location to smash it to bits on the steps then fling the remainder in amongst the trees. He returned inside and found some wire cutters and pliers from the basement. He also scrounged up an old scrub brush, some baby oil and a bottle of vinegar. They weren't the best tools for cleaning a guitar but Rick had done more with less. With his armful of supplies, Rick deposited himself on the sofa with the instrument in his lap and set to work. He had planned to lubricate and retighten the strings on the guitar but was pleasantly surprised to find an unopened pack in the case's pocket along with some plastic guitar picks in a tye dye mosaic print.

Rick spent the next hour removing the strings and meticulously cleaning the instrument with the vinegar and a dishtowel. He scrubbed the fretboards carefully to brush away the green beginnings of oxidation that had set in on the metal. He wiped down the wood, removing dust and long left behind skin oils and leaving behind a fresh sheen on the dulled surface. Only when he was satisfied with the guitar's looks did he begin the restringing process. Despite their age, the new strings had been protected in their packaging and shone in the late afternoon light. Rick took his time slowly winding the tuning pegs to catch the fresh string. He used the pliers on the tuning pegs with the missing caps. Lastly, he trimmed the excess wire and tossed it aside with the rest of the discarded steel strings. The whole process was surprisingly zen-like and Rick appreciated the care and effort it took to bring the instrument back up to snuff.

He tuned it as best he could by ear, closing his eyes to focus on each note's minuscule change approaching perfect pitch. Finally, he held the doctored guitar in his arms and placed his fingers into an easy G chord. Rick dully thought that after all that work if this thing was fundamentally too busted to sound right, it was going to make for an interesting bonfire. He ran his fingers down the string and was extremely pleased to hear a ringing chord sound out. It made him smile. Rick tested a few more chords to similar success. He did a little experimental finger picking and found, while he was a little rusty, the whole thing was like riding a bicycle.

He practiced and fussed with it a few minutes, not settling on any one song. It was funny but now that he could play it, Rick had no idea what to play. It had been about the process of taking the guitar apart and putting it back together better and it spoke to his inner engineer. Now that he considered it, it had been the first time in a long while he'd had something to engage his hands in such a way. It felt like the one thing missing from his stay at the Mystery Shack and it filled him with a sense of completion. Rick had a feeling he would find more diversions as time went on. That portal control room had very good potential as a dedicated workspace. Finders keepers, he thought again with a touch of mean spirited enjoyment.

Rick looked out into the wilderness, cradling his new possession. Had he really just thought about setting up a lab here, without a moment's hesitation? 

Rick listened to the birds and insects unseen and yet still warbling and buzzing their songs. He pushed all thought from his mind at that moment decided to offer one of his own. He began to strum out the calm and clear sounds of Led Zeppelin's "The Rain Song". He started softly, not unsure but rather delicately and with care, feeling out the guitar's playability. He was impressed with the solid action he got out of it. He sang at first under his breath then with more confidence as the lyrics came back to him, words speaking of being in the springtime of loving. Rick's singing voice was not going to win awards and it was about as rusty as the old strings of the guitar but there was character in the rasp of years of cigarettes and the practiced ease he showed after many times on stage.

"You are the sunlight in my growing... so little warmth... I've felt before.." he sang. He closed his eyes and his head rocked in time with the licks, smooth as butter. He switched from picking to strumming masterfully and focused on nothing but the sounds he was coaxing from this old instrument made new with care and attention. "It isn't hard to feel me glowing...I watched the fire that grew so low..." 

The words echoed off the roof of the porch back down onto Rick and he did feel like he was glowing in the reverberating sounds. He played surely, giving each chord special attention before falling into another easy going line of fingerpicking. He felt a beautiful snap moment of tension in the rest before making way for a new phrase that rang out with finesse, pauses between notes becoming like the punctuation in a love letter that transformed simple symbols into a fresh, alive expression.

As Rick came out of the verse, he set back into the tune, sometimes his fingers dancing along the strings and other times just keeping the same handshape and letting it travel up and down the fretboard in strong down strokes. Rick surrounded himself in sound so rich and full it was as if it couldn't come from just one instrument. He fully surrendered to one of the only natural highs he subscribed to. One of the beauties of the multiverse, both complex and simple like the atoms that made up everything. Rick played for no one else, not craving the attention of an audience but rather savoring each slide of the strings and resounding chord as his own.

He sang emphatically now, improvising with his voice and building up the scale to reach the right note by the time he came to the bridge. Rick traded Robert Plant's hot-blooded wailing for something bluesy and well balanced yet no less impassioned.

"I've felt the coldness of my winter... I never thought it would ever go!" Rick stomped his foot in time on the floorboards, giving his whole body over to the song. He belted the words as he came to the climax, singing for song's sake and coming to terms that perhaps the first two principles of the holy trinity of sex, drugs and rock and roll paled in comparison to the third. "I cursed the gloom that set upon us, 'pon us, 'pon us... But I know that I love you so."

He repeated the lyric, softer now. He had listened to the words before but now it was like hearing it with new ears.

"But I know that I love you so..."

He returned to the earlier soothing melody of the verse, walking up the strings with sure movements. The music was transformative, filling Rick with a sense of peace that was alien and incredible at the same time. There was clarity here, in this song and in this place where he was alone but not lonely. A warm breeze rustled through the clearing, bringing with it the scents of the forest's juniper wood and honeysuckle. There was also the sharp sting of petrichor that promised a summer rain before the sunset and pure satisfaction joined the peace all throughout Rick.

Coming into the closing verse, Rick's strumming and picking ran the gambit of sensation, first hammering the strings then pulling more subtle emotions from it, moving from melancholy to the serenity that was pervading every part of the man.

"This is the mystery of the quotient ... Upon us all...a little rain must fall..." Rick thought any song that could make the word 'quotient' romantic was a masterstroke. To take the sterile mathematical result of division and turn it into the beautiful image of raindrops splitting with endless certainty should have been at odds with Rick's usual cynicism but in the moment Rick was unabashedly moved by it. Life's joy could only be measured by the pain that led up to it. Rick had dealt in pain for a very long time and was prepared to let himself have joy.

Rick moved into the final phrases of the song, playing now with a soft touch that could only be described as kindness. It was the sound of quiet triumph, a brilliance that lilted through the early summer twilight and began to wind down with airy delicacy. He tripped down the octaves and let them slow and hang in the air a beautiful moment before striking the song's closing chord, sustaining it and letting it sing.

The notes rang out into a silence that was both wonderful and tragic. The insects in the trees buzzed on. Rick sat back on the couch and at last opened his eyes. He breathed in deep, taking the scent of rain into him and looked out into nature, the look of contentment and calm never leaving his face.

"Wow." Stan said softly. He had been standing in the doorway for a while now. The sound of music had roused him from the unplanned nap and had drawn him outside. He looked at Rick as if the other man had transformed before his very eyes. "That's beautiful."

Rick didn't jump at the voice. He just turned his eyes to regard Stan with an expression of warmth before returning his gaze out into the forest. He shuffled into his seat a bit.

"Just a little Zeppelin..." He said in a quiet mild way. He chuckled mellowly, radiating tranquility. "Everybody knows Zeppelin. Even aliens..."

Stan came a little closer but didn't sit. "I remember you saying that. I think it's the first weird thing you said to me and the reason I thought you were an alien." He chuckled as he stood there with this new Rick, this smiling contented quiet Rick. "Where'd you get a guitar from anyways?"

Rick laughed again, this time a little harsher; a little meaner.

"Found it. Downstairs closet." He explained. He began to pick again softly. "S'mine now..."

There was his funny yet mean spirited lover. Stan rolled his eyes. "I don't know where it could have come from though. No name on it?" He asked with his brow furrowed.

"Gimme a marker, I'll put my name on it if you're so worried..." Rick continued to play, hugging it closer to himself and obscuring the stickers on the back. He smiled at Stan in a way that said he knew he was being difficult just to tease Stan. "It fell out of the douchebag in a coffee shop dimension, I don't know."

Stan put his hands up in surrender. "Alright. You win. Keep the weird mystery guitar. Wouldn't be the worst thing I've found around here." He leaned over Rick and tilted his face down to kiss him. "You wanna go into town for dinner or stay here?"

Rick stilled his hands and sat up meeting Stan halfway. The kiss was shallow, almost a peck. It had nothing grand to declare. It was just a sweet show of affection. Rick looked up at Stan as if strangely proud of his restraint.

"I go where you go, Stud." Rick told him, smoothly. He lazily began to play again.

"Alright, lover boy. Knish or pancakes for dinner?" Stan asked picking Rick's two favorite meals. The guitar still wheedled at the back of Stan's mind but he couldn't think on it right now. He wanted to focus on the time left he had with Rick. It wouldn't be much longer he guessed. Not that he wanted this to end but it was the natural progression of this situation.

"Well, well! Is it my birthday?" Rick joked. He tilted his head and in the sunset light shimmering through the gathering storm clouds, it made him look young again. Lightening flashed in the distance. Rick placed the guitar back in its case and stood. Stan smiled. He thought about how lucky he was to have a lover like Rick. Rick was handsome and smart and crazy but in a fun way and he liked Stanley. 

"Naw. You just caught me being sentimental. A good nap'll do that to an old man like me." He smiled up at the other man. "So what'll it be?"

Rick took Stan around the waist and husked into his ear in a mock tone of desire.

"Pancakes..." He moaned low and gravelly, drawing the word out into a zombie-like drawl. He grinned against Stan's temple. As if on cue, thunder at last caught up with the lighting and rolled softly. Stan laughed. 

"You're acting weird. Are you a different Rick cause I'd really like my Rick back." He pulled away. He took one of Rick's hands in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "When MY Rick gets back tell him I'm in the kitchen and dinner will be ready soon."

Stan smiled then let go of the other man's hand before going inside. Stan felt a bit like he was on unsteady ground as he walked to the kitchen. Complaining about a lover who was acting more affectionate than usual seemed a bit ridiculous but Rick was known for oddness that didn't end well. Stan paused as he pulled down pancake ingredients from the cupboards. Could the guitar have been Ford's? Stan remembered their mom enrolling Ford in piano lessons and he'd taken to it naturally so why wouldn't he have taken to the guitar also as a young man. Even if he had figured out the mystery of where the instrument had come from, Rick's "It's mine now" attitude was still concerning. If there was a possibility that the attitude extended beyond inanimate objects Stan knew there would be a problem. The lingering worry about what would happen between him and Rick if Ford came back reared its ugly head. 

Stan shook his head as if he could physically shake the thought away. Of course, that wasn't what Rick meant. Not his free spirit Rick. He'd never want to be tied down to one person or place so why would he expect it of others. Stan went back to making dinner but Rick's reaction months ago when he thought Stan had had other lovers in their years apart nagged at him ever so slightly.

Rick stayed out on the porch, watching the storm roll in.  It wouldn't be a rough storm but it would break soon based on the way the breeze picked up and the tops of the pine trees swayed with more and more vigor. He stood when Stan called him in, picking up his guitar case and leaning it on the wall on the inside of the door when he went in.

Rick ate his pancakes with a placid air, visibly enjoying it but saying nothing. He seemed to be thinking about something but Stan couldn't tell what. The kitchen was quiet except for the tinkling of silverware. Suddenly Rick spoke up, not cross but rather matter of fact and even tempered.

"I'm not working in the gift shop, I'm not wearing a stupid suit and we are getting a bigger bed." He said, still eating. Stan looked at Rick confused, a fork full of pancakes halfway to his mouth.

"Huh?"

Rick chewed his food and picked up his beer.

"If I'm going to be working at the Mystery Shack full time, I'm picking a new tour guide outfit. How many times do I have to remind you your suit is hideous?" He said nonchalantly into his glass and drank.

"Did I miss part of the conversation cause I'm really lost right now." Stan wondered if he had a small stroke and was experiencing memory loss. "You wanna.... Give tours at the shack?"

"I mean, when I'm not working downstairs. The whole heckling tourist schtick has merit but it'll get stale after a year or two. Best to trash it for now." Rick cut another bite of pancake with the side of his fork. Stan sat there unsure of what to say. Rick was talking as if he was planning on staying. That just couldn't be right. Stan had never even entertained the thought that Rick would choose to stay. 

"But... are you sure you wanna spend that much time with the tourists? And... And what would we call you? Mr. Conundrum?" Stan thought for a second. "Wait. That's actually pretty good."

Rick smiled roguishly.

"Are you kidding me? I'm dripping in charisma. It would be a crime not to let those slack jawed day trippers enjoy me! And if anything it'll be Dr. Conundrum. I didn't go to fake taxidermy school for four years to be called Mister, thank you very much." Rick took another bite of his dinner and washed it down with a swig of beer. He seemed to be enjoying the train of thought he was on "But maybe full time is a bit a bit drastic. It could really cut into my research. And my sitting around time..."

"So you're gonna stay?" Stan asked. His eyes searched Rick's face. Rick looked at Stan with surprise and confusion. He quirked his eyebrow.

"Of course I'm staying. Didn't I make that clear? Are we having two different conversations or something? And I'm serious about the bed. I'm getting a crick in my neck folded up on that little army cot. You got enough room for a double in there at least."

"I just... Didn't think you'd wanna stay." Stan said simply. "You're not the homebody type and we never talked about you staying. Not that I'm trying to get rid of you. I just never thought you'd WANT this."

Rick didn't blush but there was something about his demeanor that spoke of embarrassment at having to discuss this at greater detail. He tried to keep things casual.

"What are you talking about? I've got my man. We run a creepy tourist trap together. I got science stuff in the basement to work on. It's the American dream! We could even travel in the off months! I can show you San Fransisco; me! Then we'll work our way up to outer space." Rick could sense that the joke hadn't landed and Stan was really having a hard time understanding. He put down his fork and scooted his chair over to sit closer to Stan and look him in the eye.

"Look. I did the domestic thing once and it didn't work out. I knew then I'd never do it again. But that was a lifetime and literally another dimension ago and I know now I was just with the wrong person. This time I got it right. This is my life now and there's no way I couldn't want it." He looked at Stan for the positive response he knew was coming.

"I still gotta go to Piedmont." It came out of Stan's mouth before he could stop himself. He scrunched up his face as he started over. "I mean I don't know how to tell my family I'm queer with a live in boyfriend." It was the first time he had used that word with Rick.

"Who says they have to know? Stick me up in a hotel room while you play sweet Uncle Stanford then we can see the sights at night!" Rick pressed on, undeterred. The word boyfriend had a better effect on him than he thought it would. He grinned and sipped on his beer happily. Halfway through a sip, he made a face as if an idea had just come to him "Or! Or you go, and it'll give me time to go pick up my ship. I don't really remember where I left it this time but it was definitely the northern hemisphere. Anyway, I can watch the Shack and when you get back, I'll have given the ship a tune up, so we'll be good to go! Wherever you want! Just say the word!"

Rick's manic brand of excitement was showing and the light in his eyes was both encouraging and slightly unsafe.

"I want to be with you." Stan reached out and gripped Rick's hand in his. "I want this. I want you."

Stan's heart was pounding on his chest but he managed a smile for Rick. Rick was minutely concerned with how emphatic, almost overly so, Stan's response had been. He banished the thought from his mind, chalking it up to his standard paranoia. Rick was done mistrusting Stan. He squeezed the hand in his and leaned in to kiss Stan's cheek briskly. He then went back to sipping his beer. He was too excited to eat but never too excited to drink.

"You just give some thought on where you want to go. I don't know if you're ready for aliens yet, though living in a place like this you're probably more ready than most. Maybe the Moon. That's always a good first time trip. I mean, I think you see Earth from the Moon once, you've seen it a hundred times but it'll be nice for you. Definitely want to keep you in the solar system to start. We'll get to parallel dimensions later, ok Stud? That's a whole other bucket of worms..." He rambled on, caught up in the zest of his mood.

Stan smiled and acted as if he was listening. His brain whirled and spun like a top. He had wanted this. He loved Rick and he was happy with him but there was the thought that Ford could come back. Stanley hated himself for it but choosing between the two in his mind always had the same outcome. Never in Rick's favor. If it was even going to be Stan's choice to make. As much as Stan dreamed of a happy loving reunion between himself and his brother, it was highly unlikely and it wasn't fair to treat Rick like a plan B. 

Then there was the fact of Rick's transient nature. Stan had lived in instability and had not thrived. He had needed a plan and a place to ground him. These things were not for Rick Sanchez. At least not yet. Even at their ages, it seemed both men still had so much growing to do. 

"It's a lot to take in Rick. I'm kind in overload." He laughed. "Hey, how about I call the kids and tell them to come in a little late so we don't have to rush in the morning?"

"If I make you late, Melissa will know why. You are the grand marshal of the Gravity Falls Pride Parade now, remember?" Rick chided playfully. He put his elbow up on the table and rested his head on one softly closed fist. "Fine by me, Stud. Close the place altogether for the day. I don't want to leave our bed tomorrow. Our too small bed, wink wink."

"Yeah. Yeah. The bed. It's been noted, Debbie. Jeez. You're redecorating my bachelor pad already." Stan joked as he stood from the table. "Kids numbers are in my office. Be back in a bit."

The calls were made with little problem. All of them excited for an additional day of summer vacation due to Mr. Pines' "family matter" except Melissa who expressly asked if Mr. Sanderson was ok. Stan did his best to reassure her that he was fine. 

When Stan returned Rick was doing the dishes. That had never happened before. There had always been some cajoling involved and Rick would grumble while performing acts of domesticity. It was all play but it was about keeping who Rick was in place. Stan didn't like the idea that Rick was changing to better suit what he believed Stan wanted. Willingness to sit in a hotel room and twiddle his thumbs while Stan visited family and doing chores without a mock fight weren't in Rick's nature. That wasn't the man who offered Stan a challenge in a gay-bar-that-wasn't-a-gay-bar years ago. This wasn't a place for either of them to grow. 

"It's just the two of us for the next twenty-four hours, Lover Boy." Stan said after a moment. He knew what needed to be done and he thought he'd figured out a way to do it. His heart ached. "Let's play a game."

Rick turned to Stan, pulling the dish towel from where it was slung over his shoulder and drying his hands. He was smiling in a mish-mash of his earlier comfort and a familiar reptilian desire.

"Oh yeah?" He asked expectantly. He tossed the towel over the back of a chair and crossed the room to Stan. He left his cane by the sink. He backed Stan to the fridge and lightly pinned him there, hands on the freezer at either side of Stan's head. He grinned down at Stan and ran his tongue across his teeth lightly, anticipation etched in his features. Stan took a deep breath and smiled.

"Never have I ever. High stakes. You get to me in five moves and we go upstairs and you can do whatever you want to me." he rested his hands on Rick's waist.

"Anything? I've got a pretty big imagination, Stud." Rick teased. He leaned in to kiss Stan. Stan kissed back. His heart was in his throat. He pulled away slowly. The taste of Rick and artificial syrup was on his lips as he thought that maybe he was making the wrong decision. Maybe it wouldn't fall apart in the end but Stan knew that was wishful thinking.

"I trust you enough to know you won't do anything to me I won't like." He slid his hands up the back of Rick's shirt to touch the skin of his back. "I know you gotta have some fantasies about me in that big noggin of yours."

"Oh, you'll like it. You'll like it alright. You said five moves? We might as well just drop trou and go upstairs now. Maybe not in that order." Rick said around quick kisses. He brought his body in against Stan's own. Stan moaned softly but he focused on the task at hand.

"Come on. Fair is fair. I play your games, you play mine. This time you have to get to me." Stan kissed back each time Rick swooped in. Rick laughed softly and the vibration rambled through his chest into Stan's.

"Fair is fair? Fair is boring. But if you're going to be a baby about it, we'll go ahead and drag out your death slow and painful." Rick joked. He pulled away and stood, hip jutted out defiantly. "Ok, handsome. Where do you want me?"

"Stay right here." Said Stan before giving Rick one more deep lingering kiss. It could be the last one. He moved to the kitchen door and turned. "You got five steps. No mess ups. No cheating. You reach me and I'm yours. You don't.... We do what I wanna do." He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows. "You ready?"

Rick turned and leaned against the fridge. He folded his arms and crossed one foot over the other. His smile was hot and stormy like the wind outside.

"I'll ask what you wanted to do later. After I win." He told Stan. He undressed Stan with his eyes. "Game on."

"Never have I ever been in a spaceship." Stan said. He knew it was an easy one but he didn't think he could hold his own against Rick. That wasn't the point. Rick rolled his eyes in a good-natured way and pushed back from the fridge with his elbows to stand. He took a theatrical step forward. He stood there and stuffed his hands into his pockets, eyeing Stan sardonically.

"Cute. Try again." He pestered. Stan crossed his arms over his chest and met Rick's sardonic look with one of his own.

"What you want me to make this hard? That's fine. I enjoy owning your ass." He smiled slightly and shrugged one shoulder. "Ok. I don't know if I want the answer to this one but here goes. Never have I ever been in bed with more than one person at a time. "

Rick did not hesitate in his step forward. He looked proud.

"Hey man, the seventies were a hell of a time." He said. He tilted his head thoughtfully as if classifying something in his head. "So were the eighties, as a matter of fact. Second half of the sixties wasn't too bad either. Nevermind. You said you were going to make this harder, didn't you? You're in over your head, Stud. Don't know why you bother."  Rick enjoyed the back and forth and knew it was only a matter of time before he won this little game.

"Never have I ever had a daughter." Stan said simply. It wasn't said meanly. Just a statement and Stan stood there with a hard to read expression on his place. An old tell Stan thought he had gotten rid of back in Vegas popped up as Stan ran one thumb around the opposite hand's knuckles.

"Okay, if you're not going to play..." Rick trailed off. He watched Stan cautiously a moment before speaking again. There was suspicion in his voice. "Something's up. What wrong?"

Rick took a step forward, not because he had ever but just to get closer to Stan.

"Never have I ever finished high school." Stan said quickly before Rick could take another step "or college and I'll never be able to keep up with you when it comes to being smart."

Rick stopped in his tracks. He looked Stan over, taking in his nervous body language. To Rick, Stan looked like a frightened rabbit and he was pretty sure he looked like a circling hawk to Stan.

"Why are you trying to throw this, Stan?" Rick asked in a tone that was a cross between mistrust and disbelief. It said that if this was a joke, Rick didn't think it was a very good one "You want me to win this thing and you want it bad. You know I don't care how smart you are."

"Never have I ever wanted something as much as I want this but I know it's all going to fall apart because we're both too stubborn and too different even though I love you." Stan said it all in one fast breath. He stood there with his heart hammering and feeling sick to his stomach. Rick gaped, eyes owlish and mouth hanging open. He couldn't move.

"What're... what are you saying? Where'd the hell did this come from?" He managed. His mouth worked like a fish out of water as Rick fumbled for what to say next. Rick thought everything was fine. There were plans being made and, Stan said it himself, love. Rick felt like he had been dropped onto a foreign planet where he didn't speak the language.

"It's not gonna work, Rick. I can't keep up with you and I don't wanna hold you back." Stan looked down at the floor. "You don't really want to be here. You're already planning on how we're gonna leave." He looked back up at Rick. "I don't want you to change for me. I want the man I saw in the bar that night that gave me a challenge. God, it's just not fucking fair." Stan ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes looked defeated already.

Rick took the words in and they were dark and heavy in his heart. Rick hadn't considered that Stan would ever want to keep the trouble making misanthrope he was. His wife hadn't wanted that after all the stardust had been scrubbed from her eyes. So Rick, ever the adaptive one, told himself to make peace with domesticity. He did and it hadn't worked then but his scientific mind told him that an experiment could be repeated and come back with a completely different outcome if the conditions were different. With Stan, it could be different. A smaller part of Rick piped in that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result was the definition of insanity.

Rick wanted to tell Stan that he was going to be the same guy he always was but he knew how much that would ring false. Rick lived his life relying on how he felt moment to moment. It was something Rick never wanted to admit to doing but it was true based on a catalog of extreme choices made after bad arguments or good sex and Rick was finally starting to feel good about himself. Like he was capable of navigating what someone wanted of him. The reality of how wrong he was felt like a slap to the face.

"You coward. You fucking coward." He spat "You finally get me to stay and now you don't want me?!"

Rick hesitated, looking around as if searching for an exit. He felt small and exposed standing in the middle of the kitchen. He clutched his hands into his hair frantically, not knowing what to do.

"Wha-wh- What do you want?! What do you want, for Christ sake?! Do you want me to beg? I'll do it, Stan. I'll beg." Rick stuttered. Rick shuffled where he stood then got down on both knees, long legs pointed out behind him. It was a gesture riding the line between biting sarcasm and painful sincerity. He held his arms out, crucifixion like.

"Here I am! This is me, on my knees, for you Stanford!" Rick pointed words were punctuated with a laugh that was equal parts unhinged and bitter. His eyes were wild and pleading. Stan glared at Rick. This was hard enough for him as it was without Rick's dramatics. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Rick! Get off the Goddamn floor. I don't want you to beg. I want you to understand that we aren't the long run type. Not together. How long do you think we'll last before you get bored and I get stuck in my ways and we start fighting? Then you'd run off cause that's what you do." Stan's eyes softened. He swallowed hard. "Would I ever see you again after that? And if I do would it be ten, fifteen years before you show up on my doorstep, broken so I can put you back together. Getting you out of my system last time was hard enough and that was only a day with you. Now? Now that would kill me."

Rick collapsed to sit on the floor. His hands fell heavily into his lap. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be furious but he was just so tired of fighting with Stan. He just wanted to be past all this bullshit and have things back to normal or as close to their kind of normal as possible. A long moment passed then Rick pulled himself to his feet. He took a few more steps toward Stan. He didn't break eye contact with the other man, searching for the answer he wanted there.

"So what? I lose no matter what? I'm serious. I want this, Stan. I want this more than I've ever wanted anything. Yeah, ok, I'm a pretty worthless guy. Biggest fucking brain in the galaxy and now I don't know what to do." Rick's voice was without the usual bravado, positive or negative and what was left was flat and unassuming. "You want me to quit smoking? Fine. You want that stupid portal up and running again? I will find a way to make that happen but if you want me to just go and never think about you again? No fucking dice. I'll do whatever it takes, just... Don't make a goddamm fool out of me like this."

Rick held his hands out and Stan saw something in Rick's face he had never seen before: sorrow.

Stan looked at Rick and fought back the emotions that boiled inside him. Each one competing to get loose. He stepped forward, bypassing Rick's hands, and wrapped his arms around Rick's waist. He tucked his head under Rick's chin and took a deep breath, taking in everything that was Rick. 

"You ain't worthless. You're everything to me." He said after a moment. "If you call yourself worthless one more time I'll beat the crap out of you." he pulled himself as close to Rick as he could, his fingers twining into the fabric of the back of the tall man's shirt. "I do want you to quit smoking cause it's gonna kill ya but I want you to quit cause you want to, not just cause I did it and.... I wanna fix the portal. I've never been the hero, Rick. I wanna do this."

Stan pulled back a bit and looked up at Rick but didn't give up his hold on his lover.

"What I want you to do is go save a planet from the space cold or blow it up. Find the best ice cream in the multi-verse or the worst pizza. Find your daughter and get back in her life or let her throw you out cause she deserves to decide how it's gonna be between you two after all this time. You saved hundreds of those slug women cause they coulda been someone's daughter but you haven't seen yours in years. I want you to go out there and be Rick Sanchez. Mad scientist. Warrior. Savior and destroyer." He pulled Rick back in, needing to feel him and to hide the tears that were about to run down his face. "But when you get tired, When you need a quiet place in the middle of nowhere with a warm meal and a warm bed, when you need to be safe. Come back to me. Come be my Rick. In three months or six months or a year even. You can always come back. Just don't make me wait a lifetime."

Rick stood stone still and rigid in Stan's embrace a moment, letting Stan's voice wash over him. He felt like his whole body had shut down and he was having trouble rebooting. He met Stan's gaze incredulously and only when Stan pulled him back in Rick did melt, his arms wrapping around Stan's shoulders and head. Stan could have collapsed in relief when he felt Rick's arms go around him.

"You're telling me to go out and find myself? For fuck sake, I'm fifty, Stan. How much growing can anybody do at fifty?" He asked, exhausted. He didn't want it to come off as push back. It was a legitimate question but he wouldn't be surprised if Stan saw it as another refusal to obey his kindness just because Rick was a stubborn old man.

"A lot, cause if anyone is gonna live forever it's gonna be you." He chuckled a little. "I got some growing to do too. I just feel like we can't do this till we're both who we're supposed to be. I tried to love someone before I knew who I was and it blew up in my face. I don't want that for us."

Rick could talk in circles all day. Anyone else would come around to his way of thinking given enough time but he knew that wouldn't work. Not with Stan. He was as unshakable as Rick. Rick both admired and was irritated by that. Rick held Stan close and pressed his cheek into Stan's warm fragrant hair.

"Why do you gotta be right? It could've been so good..." He said in a small drained voice.

"Yeah but for how long?" Stan said pressing his face into Rick's shoulder. The two of them stood there for what felt like an eternity, in silence. They comforted each other with their presence, warding off the painful reality of their situation for as long as they could. Big fights were easy, Rick thought. They were passionate and immediate. It was over and you could be gone before the knowledge of what you had done could set in. This, like any other overabundance of knowledge in Rick's opinion, hurt more. It was too real and too sad for the fire of passion to catch.

"I, uh... I might as well show you what I've been working on." Rick said. He slowly, carefully, pulled himself from Stan grasp and walked from the room. When he came back he was holding the journal in his hands. He looked down at it in an almost guilty way. His gaze floated up to Stan and he held it out to him in offering. Stan took the book in his hands and looked from it to Rick. 

"What'd you do?"

Rick didn't want to look at Stan. He settled on keeping his eyes on the journal as Stan opened it and flipped through. Certain pages had been marked with neat slips of the legal pad paper Stan had seen Rick writing on. Each one had a translation of any bits of the unreadable cipher on the corresponding page it was tucked into. Everything above each translation seemed to be Rick's process leading up to it, including footnotes and one page with a pretty comprehensive alphabet table.

"It's, i-it's not going to get that portal running. Not without the other book." Rick explained sheepishly. "But it's a start."

Stan started flipping through the pages, pausing every so often to read some of the notes on the yellow paper.

"Most of these are about me." As if in a trance Stan sat at the table and started leafing through the book. He had read this book so many times he could have rewritten it himself. There were several jabs made at him through the journal and at first they had hurt his feelings but with repeated readings they just made Stan chuckle to himself. These notes in the secret writing were almost love letters. Musings on their shared childhood and longing for the closeness they had once shared, both familial and intimate. 

His thick fingers ran over the paper that held Ford's words in Rick's handwriting and his heart ached. Stan would have given anything at that moment to have both men be his but he knew it was a fruitless and selfish wish. 

"You did all this?" Stan asked looking at Rick.

"I didn't do it for any good reason, so don't start thinking I've been secretly noble this whole time. I was jealous, alright?" Rick said and for a moment he was defensive. It didn't stick and Rick sagged visibly where he stood.

"If the only thing you cared about was the portal, I was going to figure out what made it tick, starting there." Rick pointed at the journal. "When you thought about that book and, and the portal, I wanted you to think of me, and not... not your brother. I wanted to replace him with me."

Outside the rain had reached the shack, storm clouds dimming the room and killing what would have been twilight. Rick approached the table but only made it as far as his chair. He leaned on the backrest with both hands then hung his head.

"But then I was reading it every day and we started getting close and I wanted to see you happy and... It's amazing what you learn about someone when you read their diary..."

Stan swallowed hard. He watched the top of Rick's head for a moment. The old pages felt good under his fingertips. He smiled a little

"And here I was avoiding talking about all of this cause I didn't wanna piss you off. " Stan shook his head at how ridiculous he had been.

"Look in the back." Rick said hoarsely. Stan turned to the last leaf in the journal. The page that read "Continued in Journal #2". On the back of that page was a series of symbols like the others in the journal. The strokes were small and light as if the coding wasn't enough to protect the secrecy of the message. The folded slip of paper tucked into the page fell onto the table. Stan opened it and In Rick's round lettering was the translation: 'You and me forever.'

"He's still crazy about you." Rick said in a soft voice. He lifted his head but still didn't look at Stan. There was hurt ironic smile on his lips. "You can't give up now."

It felt hard to breathe for Stanley. Those words had meant the world to him when he was a child and they meant even more to him now. He took a deep shaking breath and looked away from Rick, keeping his eyes on the paper in his hands. 

"I'm sorry you can't replace him. God, I wish you could, cause he left me behind but you've -" the tears cut Stan off. He fought passed them. "You've been trying to take me with you for years. I wish, so much, that I was stronger so I could move past this or that I didn't feel this way. You deserve that Rick. You deserve someone who only has space in their heart for you." He looked back at Rick. The tears had slid down his face with little fanfare and he laughed humorlessly. "God, I'm so pathetic. But I've always been pathetic around you. How in the world could you ever want me?" Stan placed the paper with the precious translation back onto its page and wiped at his eyes.

"Look at me, crying like a teenage girl over boys and notes. You really picked a winner this time, Rick." He joked. Rick bit his lip and shook his head in a drained way. He wished he knew what to say but in the face of such strong emotion, he felt powerless. He sat and watched the tears continue to spring up into Stan's eyes but could only muster a haggard sigh. He felt and probably looked about a hundred years old. Any remaining sunlight was smothered by the rain clouds.

"You're kidding me, right? You can at least cry about it. Wish I could right now. I think I'm all dried up. Too much of a fucking super genius to let myself do something that I don't think will help me. Leave it to me to overthink things." He said, shrugging. Rick took a heavy seat then reached out and put his hand over Stan's. The fact that he was the cause of Stan's distress, even partly, and was still trying to give him comfort was not lost on Rick. He didn't say anything, letting the rain beating against the roof keep the silence away.

"...Now what do we do?" Rick asked faintly. It felt stupid coming out of his mouth but Rick didn't want to make any decisions right now. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Stan took Rick's hand in his. 

"I ain't throwing you out, Rick. You can stay all you want but I can't pretend like this is permanent." He wiped the tears off his face with his free hand. "We got the place to ourselves for the next day and I wanna spend the time with you but not if you don't want that too."

"You're passing the buck, asshole."  Rick told him with the barest sliver of a joke in it. He always had used his dry humor to cope in times of stress and this was no different. Rick seemed to ruminate a moment on it then squeezed Stan's hand. He nodded his head definitively and his face was set with new if only slightly shaking confidence.

"Alright. This was supposed to be my house warming party, right? Well, fuck it! Let's make it my going away party then! I want you to send me off in style, Stud and I refuse to spend my night with you feeling sorry for myself. We'll get drunk! And I mean really drunk and we will stop wondering about tomorrow or the next day or five years from now. We will, and I'm a hundred percent sure how damn hamfisted this sounds, just think about tonight! Come on, what do you say?" Rick stood, closed the journal and pushed it away from Stan. He did it gently and with a respect that was unlike Rick.

Stan stood and wrapped one arm around Rick's waist. The other hand pulled gently on the front of Rick's shirt. He pulled until their lips met and Stan kissed the tall man with fathomless passion, tasting from Rick's mouth as though he were drinking from a font of the sweetest water he had ever tasted. He sighed softly against Rick's lips as their tongues slid together. Finally, Stan pulled away with one last swipe of his tongue. 

"That's the best idea you've ever had, Lover Boy." Stan said with a mischievous smile. "Wanna start with some whiskey?"

Rick smiled and there was the old fire in his eyes that Stan had not seen since perhaps the night they met.

"Wild Turkey?" 

Stan gave Rick a coy smile. "I may have picked up a fresh bottle on my last trip into town." He leaned against Rick "You want some company?" Stan said mimicking the first thing he had ever said to Rick.

Rick couldn't precisely remember what he had said back then. He knew it had been something quick and abrasive but he was just so eager about the night that lay ahead, he didn't bother trying to recall. Instead, he took Stan's chin in his hand and whispered: "Anytime, Stud." Before he kissed Stan again.


	8. Part 8

Things started tamely enough. Tame for Rick anyhow. He downed the two fingers of Wild Turkey like an oversized shot and bade Stan do the same to "jumpstart the process" as he put it. Stan agreed, grimacing and coughing and Rick laughed and thumped him on the back. Stan said he would have little trouble keeping up with Rick, but Rick waved him off and reasoned if this was a party, drinking games were necessary. They started by trying their hands at bouncing quarters into a shot glass and even mostly sober Stan found it took some practice. Between failures and whooping victories and sips of his second whiskey, Rick would lean in and clap his hand on Stan's knee or put his arm around the man as he aimed. It was companionable and relaxed and neither of them thought about what would happen in the morning. 

Stan pulled a pack of cards from the kitchen junk drawer and what few sophisticated rounds of Texas hold em they managed to play devolved into snickering bouts of Rick telling Stan to go fish. They played high or low for about an hour, shooting the breeze as if they'd done it their whole lives.

When Stan had begun to slow, Rick teased him kindly. Stan defended himself saying that the hard liquor was probably just too much too fast and if there were any beer to be had he could probably keep going. Not satisfied with that brush off explanation, Rick felt around on the top of the fridge for the portal gun (it was where he ended up keeping it after Slug Day, whether from the laziness of it being the closest place to stow it from when Stan had left it on the table or perhaps a subconscious effort to forget about it up there, even Rick didn't know.) and after fiddling with the button for a moment, shot a portal into the open air of the kitchen. Rick stepped through, ignoring the look of astonishment on Stan's face and after a few short minutes came out with a pair of twelve packs and a plastic bag full of bags of pretzels and other snacks. He also had a bag of ice under his arm.

"Tada! Ask for the moon next, Stud!" Rick crowed triumphantly. He tossed the shopping bag on the kitchen table and dumped the ice into the sink, then began pushing bottles of beer into the cold like a warrior plunging spears into a downed prey animal. Stan noted the shopping bag read 'Dusk 2 Dawn'. Stan picked up one of the bags and held it up while he shot Rick a nonplussed look. There was a little humor underneath it all though.

"They've only been dead a month, besides that place still being a crime scene." He crumpled up the bag and tossed it in the trash.

"I laugh in the face of a misdemeanor." Rick said, his face flushed with the alcohol he had already consumed and he handed Stan a beer. "And it's not like they'll need it. Consider it payback for the years of subtle anti-Semitism."

Stan chuckled and shook his head as he opened his beer. He chugged down the whole beer quickly while wrapping an arm around Rick's waist and pulling him in close. 

"I better learn to keep up with my criminal boyfriend then." He chuckled leaning in a bit.

"Whoa-ho-ho!" Rick said, the impressed sound subsiding into a laugh. "If I knew we were going to chug, I would've gotten cans so we could do shotguns!"

Rick swayed a bit in Stan's grasp but didn't stumble. He uncapped his beer and sucked down about half the bottle. He leaned in as well and grinned sharply. 

"And, and, and you can't - you can't use that word! I'm going to get too attached. I'm just your very... very close friend who would do absolutely anything for you including going to federal prison because I'd just break out again and who am I kidding, I'm your boyfriend. Least til sun up, and I'm gonna use it to the best of my 'vantage..." Rick's run on sentence struggled to be clear-headed before he gave up the ghost. It was too cheerful despite bringing their strange arrangement to light.

"Good. I want you attached. People who get attached come back. I should know." He gave Rick one more squeeze before pulling away from him. He tossed the beer bottle and grabbed a full one. He popped the top off the bottle and smiled at Rick. "Come on babe. Can't bring the party down now." 

Stan walked out of the room and into the tv room where he kept the old record player he had found in the Shack shortly after moving in and his records. He flipped through them until he found the one he was looking for. Foreigner's 'Records' album. He thought Rick might make fun of him for having a greatest hits album but he was drunk enough not to care. Once the record was spinning on the turntable Stan placed the needle down with a little smile. He bounced and swayed a bit as 'Cold As Ice' started playing in the room. He took a deep swig of his beer and walked back to the kitchen. 

"Come dance with me, Debbie baby." Stan said offering Rick his hand. Nostalgic visions of Palmer's Peak flooded back to Rick, now oddly reversed with Stan leading him out to the dance floor. Rick swallowed the second half of his beer sloppily, foam spilling down his chin. He snatched a fresh bottle from the sink and twisted the cap off, dropping it haphazardly on the floor as he took Stan's hand in his own, cold and wet with the condensation of the bottles he had just put on ice.

"I thought you'd never ask." He intoned as he let himself be led to the TV room where the music was louder. Halfway there Rick closed the gap, coming in behind Stan and hugging him around the waist as they walked.

Stan leaned his head back against Rick as they walked. He turned in Rick's grasp and lazily draped the arm holding the beer over Rick's shoulder while the other hand rested at Rick's waist. He smiled seductively up at Rick as he swayed against him. Stan made sure their bodies were flush at every possible moment. Rick responded happily. He hummed his approval and wrapped his arms around Stan's waist. They moved to the beat smoothly, not making it to the tv room and instead just dancing at the bottom of the stairs.

"You can still dance..." Rick noted, charm outdoing the complement's backhandedness.

"You think I'd forget?" Stan laughed. He pulled away just enough to take a long deep swing from his beer. "I was made to dance, babe. You know I got rhythm."

He smirked and slung his arm over Rick's shoulder again. Rick chuckled lewdly and took a sip of his own beer. He let Stan lead him. They danced through the entirety of the album, heedless of the passing time. They clung to each other shamelessly when 'Waiting For A Girl Like You' played and neither of them spoke.

Perhaps sensing how affectionate the mood had gotten, Rick spun Stan away and danced to the kitchen and back with two fresh beers. He snatched Stan's empty bottle away, telling him to stop slacking. He left the empty on the stair and provided him with a full one. They picked the pace back up, twisting and dipping with renewed passion. By the time they had danced through the live version of 'Hot Blooded', they had had three more beers each. 

Rick pulled Stan out to the porch complaining that it was too hot in the shack and what they really needed was some fresh air. The two of them staggered out onto the porch and Rick pulled Stan close, the momentum of Rick's yanking bringing their bodies together with a soft thud. He didn't kiss Stan but just touched their foreheads together and place a hand on Stan's cheek gently. Rick's smile was a mile wide and he hissed drunken laughter. He closed his eyes and swayed with Stan, breathing in his scent a moment, before collapsing on the couch and demanding he and Stan swap stories. 

Another hour passed and the pair took turns regaling the other with their most harrowing or ridiculous run ins with aliens and mob bosses and the law of more than two dozen states and countless planets. The awed tones of "no shit?" Were reassured with laughter and sarcastic oaths of scout's honor. One man would finish a story then duck into the kitchen for cold beer demanding the other try and top their last tale. The rain hissed on not three feet away in the dark beyond the porch roof. Rick made a half-joking comment that Stan's 'mob boss' suit would make a vast improvement on his current Mr. Mystery outfit. They laughed until their sides hurt. The Journal sat on the kitchen table, forgotten.

Stan smiled and sipped his beer. It had been quite a while since he'd been drunk and happy but as he watched Rick he could feel that swelling in his chest. He wondered if it was normal to be so in love with two very different people but he thought that that was neither here nor there at the moment. 

"Can you play that guitar drunk?" Stan asked Rick, leaning his shoulder casually against Rick's. Rick favored Stan with an overdone look of insult but it melted into a toothy grin.

"I can split an atom drunk. I can recite the first five minutes of Reservoir Dogs drunk and hot damn, if I can do anything drunk, it's play a guitar." He said. He clapped his hand on Stan's knee and used it to push himself to his feet. The cool breeze stirred up by the driving rain felt good on Rick's flushed skin as he went stumbling back into the house.

"You need another one?" Rick asked over his shoulder but didn't wait for an answer. He came back a few minutes later, the guitar case held by the handle in one hand, a fresh pair of beers in the other. He thrust them at Stan as he sat heavily, bending over to pop open the latches of the case. Rick pulled the guitar into his embrace and took his beer back. There were less than a dozen left in the sink, Rick noted and while he had no idea exactly how late it was he had a feeling the Stan would scold him and his excessive ways if he suggested another run in the near future. Rick swigged then put down his drink in the army of dead soldiers around the sofa and out in the grass. He began to lightly play trills and lackadaisical riffs in short, disjointed exercises more as something to do with his hands now that he had the guitar in them than an actual attempt at music. Those long fingers moving up and down the frets with ease mesmerized Stan. 

"You're good with those hands." Stan half teased. He finished off his beer before placing it on the floor with all the others and opened the one Rick had handed him. His eyes trailed over Rick with a loving look with some thinly veiled lust under it all. He slowly sipped his beer. He didn't want to get much more drunk than he already was. "Damn. How'd I find a dame like you, Debbie?"

"Yadda yadda..." Rick replied, unable to wade through the alcohol quickly enough to respond to the saucy talk with anything clever. He began to strum in earnest now, unsatisfied with just playing around. It was a steady pithy sound that focused on rhythm rather than its own melody. Rick sang, somewhat inarticulately, his own version of The Dead Kennedys' 'Let's Lynch The Landlord'. The whole song took under ninety seconds to wrap up, between the dynamic punk speed and Rick opting to mutter nonsense words through the parts where his alcohol soaked brain was unable to remember the lyrics. He laughed triumphantly to himself when he was done. 

"How's that?" He asked Stan, retrieving his beer and drinking appreciatively. He sat the bottle on the couch, between his legs for safe keeping "Or is that not your speed? You're more of a Sweet Caroline, bah bah bah type?"

Rick played the ascending chords to accompany the bah-bah's as he said it. Stan laughed.

"I'm from New Jersey. I ain't gonna sing no Red Sox song. " He rested his arm on the backrest barely touching rick. "How about some Rolling Stones? Think you can pull that off?"

Rick shrugged and drank again. 

"S'bit of a pedestrian request but if my baby wants Stones, he gets Stones..." He fussed with the tuning a moment then started in on the four chord progression of 'You Can't Always Get What You Want'.  He tried to keep the tempo moderate as Rick found it was very easy to turn the tune into a dirge if you played it too slow. He sang the familiar first few lines about the woman at the reception and her footloose man.

Stan hummed along and tapped his foot to the beat. He liked that Rick wanted to take some ownership of him. It had been a long time since he'd belonged to someone and it made him happy. The Stones fit Rick in the way the Beatles had always fit Ford. His brother loved his Beatles albums and had saved for each one. He smiled and joined in at the chorus with his rough voice. It wasn't pretty but he was having fun.

When Stan began to sing, Rick looked to him with suddenness. He didn't falter, just raised his eyebrow high and let a pleasantly surprised expression take over his face. It emboldened Rick and he started stomping out a simple rhythm with his boot on the floorboards. Stan didn't strike him as one to sing. The man was certainly theatrical at times but Rick knew his low self-esteem and singing in front if anyone was usually the first big no-no for someone who didn't think very highly of himself. Rick's more reasonable half blamed the alcohol and its social lubrication properties but he quelled those and firmly told himself it was because Stan was comfortable with him. He trusted Rick. It was wonderful to have someone trust you.

Rick sang louder now, leaving the short chorus for the verse. He turned where he sat toward Stan, his body language warm and inviting. As Rick moved on to the verse about going to the demonstration, Stan found himself still singing. He sat up and leaned closer to Rick. Their knees bumping as they sang together. Stan nodded his head as they sang, really getting into the song. Then they were back to the chorus and Stan sipped his beer letting Rick sing on his own for a moment before joining back in.

Rick dropped in a little simple harmony to the chorus. The two fed off each other's energy and sang loud, at times off key but uncaring for the quality of the song but instead more focused on the one they were sharing it with. Their voices rang out into the darkness of the woods where there was no one to hear them. Rick skipped any guitar solo in favor of going straight into the last verse. He played hard, strong and Rick relished the metallic slide of the changing of chords. Their voices fought to drown out the hissing rain.

Stan laughed and sang and rested a hand on Rick's knee. This was the best he'd felt in years and sharing this moment with Rick meant the world to him. They repeated the chorus as the song wound down and it made Stan think that the song really worked for their circumstances. You really couldn't always get what you wanted but you could get what you needed. Right now they did need each other but need was a fickle thing like love and together they didn't set up a strong foundation. 

"Ok. Ok, that was fun." Stan said laughing as Rick played around with the last chords of the song. Rick laughed hard and sighed. He swigged from his drink again and slowly wound down. Rick folded his arms over the guitar and placed his chin in them. He looked at Stan fondly. There was something searching in that look. It was at odds with itself. A kind of melancholy joy like Rick was committing the moment to memory and didn't know if it would stick. He said nothing. Stan tentatively reached out and ran his fingers through Rick's soft hair.

"You ok? This is supposed to be fun. You don't look like your having as much fun as you could be." Stan's face was soft with love and care. Rick tilted his head into the touch. He sighed through his nose and put his hand over Stan's. He held it there on his scalp a moment then pulled away to put his guitar and beer down. He turned back to Stan and pulled him in with a soft touch at the nape of Stan's neck. He kissed Stan and it was full and soft. He rested his forehead against Stan's, still holding on loosely.

"Let me say goodbye, stud?" He whispered a breath away.

"Jesus, Rick." Stan said softly as he gathered the man he loved into his arms. "Why's it gotta be all or nothing with you? You can come back. I'll be right here. I ain't goin nowhere. You said you were with the wrong person before when you tried this but you're with the right person now. I am the right person cause I ain't gonna domesticate you and act like I'm the one doing you the favor." 

Stans words were hushed and without anger or contempt. He held Rick tight and nuzzles their foreheads together. 

"If you want this to be goodbye -" Stan had to swallow hard around the lump in his throat. "If you wanna say goodbye I ain't gonna make you come back. I love ya but we both got stuff we gotta finish on our own." He kissed Rick softly. "I wanna be the best man for you and I can't be that yet."

Rick shook his head and their foreheads rubbed together. His tone was playfully admonishing.

"Now who's all or nothing? I'll be back, stupid. What I'm saying is, and I could blame it on the booze, but, but I won't because we both know what a goddamn sap I've been. I'm saying that if I'm going to be okay with everything going back to how it was you need to let me say goodbye to this. All this right here." Rick pet Stan's hair and Stan could feel that his fingers were shaking. "I'll be the same fun-loving jerk I always was in the morning. Just let me get this out of my system."

Stan smiled a bit. "I'm your stud and you're my lover boy and this is our place. You can do whatever you need to do. I'll catch you." He held Rick tighter.

"God," Rick said through an indulgent smile. The kisses he gave Stan were short but deep. "You're going to make me sick."

Rick pushed Stan to sit back and settled into his embrace. He kissed Stan languidly, taking his time. His hands continued to brush through Stan's hair and down the sides of Stan's face. Stan hummed softly into Rick's mouth as his hands traveled over the other man's back in a reassuring way, gently rubbing over the soft warm fabric of the t-shirt and the hard muscles underneath.

Rick drank in the touch. He just kissed Stan, not rushing to intimacy. There was something to be said for a nice prolonged make-out session, Rick thought to himself. It was something that was often left to the wayside when sex was discovered on the unmade twin beds and back seats of youth but occasionally it was freeing to let the velvet touch of tongue and teeth have its time in the spotlight. To forgo the stupid bluntness of the hands that so often were the principle receptors of touch in favor of the sensitivity of the mouth. The soft bump of taste buds and silken slip of flesh where the bottom lip gave way to the inner waterline at war with the hard cresting mountains and valleys of the teeth. It was a microcosm of everything that made up man. Every sensation working together to let the acute tactile nature of it overtake you until you were scarcely surprised that the hands ever felt at all.

Rick pulled Stan down to lay in top of him, their legs knocking against each other off the side of the sofa. The weight of Stan's bulk on him was wonderful and Rick closed his arms around Stan's waist. The kisses were not hard but still passionate and open mouthed. Rick sighed through his nose, content.

This felt nice to Stan. He wrapped his arms around Rick in a bear hug. He wanted Rick close and he didn't want this to end. It had been a long time since Stan had felt this comfortable with anyone. Rick made him feel confident and sexy and like he could do anything. He was willing to do anything to thank Rick for that. Stan allowed Rick to take the lead. He kissed slow, sucking on his lover's bottom lip. He closed his eyes and savored every moment. Every taste. He brought one hand up and threaded his fingers through Rick's hair as he deepened the kiss.

Rick tucked his fingers into the waistband of Stan's boxers, feeling the soft give of the skin over the solidity of his frame. His fingers kneaded the flesh just below the small of Stan's back. He toed his boots off, where they hit the porch and a few beer bottles with a clinking thud and swung his legs up onto the sofa tangling them into Stan's own. He moaned into Stan's mouth and broke away to kiss Stan's jaw and neck. One hand slid up Stan's back pulling up his shirt.

Stan paused for a moment. He felt rather exposed out here on the porch but they were far enough from town that no one would bother them and if one of those creepy gnomes came by maybe it would scare them away. Moaning softly at the feel of Rick's hot mouth on his neck, Stan detached himself just long enough to help Rick pull off his tank top, thick fingers slid up under Rick's shirt as Stan leaned back in for a long deep kiss, his shirt forgotten in the floor like all the empty beer bottles.

Rick sat up, leaning on his elbow to meet Stan, the kiss a burning call for more. He pulled his own shirt over his head with Stan's help letting it hang on his supporting arm. The cool damp air prickled on his overexcited skin and Rick shook the shirt away as he brought his hands up to pull Stan back into an embrace. Their chests touched and it felt exquisite. Rick struggled on the small surface of the couch but managed to trade places with Stan and laid back down on him, between his legs.

Stan kissed back, meeting Rick's want with his own. He ran his fingers down Rick's slim back and slipped his fingers into the top of Rick's pants. Pushing his hips up, Stan moaned into Rick's mouth. Stan wanted to tell Rick how good he felt, how handsome he was, how in love he was with him but Stan needed to let Rick handle this in his own way.

Rick was becoming breathless with want. He ran his palms along Stan's sides and his skin was warm and giving. He could feel Stan's hardness digging into his lower belly and Rick's own length was protesting for freedom in his jeans. He twitched his hips and was met with a warm wash of pleasurable friction.

"I wanna," Rick began but preempted the thought with more luxurious kisses to Stan's mouth and face. "Let me..."

Rick wanted to be displeased with himself for all but begging this early out of the gate. Rick Sanchez prided himself in his sexual forthrightness but he knew what Stan could do to him and under the circumstances, he was very much overcome. Those big hands, that could knock out a guy with a well placed punch, tenderly moved up Rick's long lean body and took that angular handsome face in his hands. 

"I want you, Rick." Stan said as his breath ghosted over his lover's lips. "I will always want you." he kissed Rick deeply as his hands continued their journey down the front of Rick's torso and began unbuttoning Rick's pants. "I want you inside me. I wanna feel you." He knew Rick's pride wouldn't let him ask or beg for this but Stan was shameless and he wanted this to be perfect.

Rick's whole body melted into the kiss. He fumbled to help rid himself of his jeans, not wanting to stop kissing but having to when he couldn't reach back any farther to get them past his knees. Rick rolled away just long enough to peel his remaining clothes off and toss them aside. His jeans landed in a heap on the porch step, where the rain began to soak into them. Rick sat, heedless of his nudity outside. It was late into the night and while anyone who may have happened upon the Shack would have seen the two of them in the yellow halo of the porch light, Rick had a feeling no one from around here would be stupid enough to wander these woods at night.

Rick wormed his hands under Stan's hips and pulled Stan's boxers away, slipping them down and off Stan's legs, which Rick petted and stroked lovingly. Rick shuffled down to drape Stan's legs over his shoulders. He put his hands under Stan's buttocks and lifted him and a better angle to bury his face between Stan's thighs. He kissed the inside of Stan's thigh working his way down and below to slide his tongue of Stan's hole, lavishing with long hot strokes of his tongue. Stan couldn't help but moan. The first time Rick did this to him in the hotel room all those years ago it had been a new and amazing experience. Now, after months of living together and many sexual encounters between the two men, it still sent shivers up Stan's spine. His hands slid gently into Rick's hair as he moaned and arched.

"You make me feel so good." He groaned as Rick loosened him up. "ah! Fuck yes!"

Rick continued a few minutes longer, tongue probing and hands massaging at the globes of Stan's buttocks. At last Rick sat up, one leg folded beneath him and pulled Stan half into his lap. He wrapped Stan's legs around his waist and Rick put his fingers into his mouth, working them against his tongue. He looked down at Stan, devouring the other man with his eyes. He removed his fingers from his mouth and reached down between Stan's legs. He rubbed his two fingertips on the tight ring of muscle before pressing them in smoothly. Rick's expression was lustful but it was outweighed by an unashamed soft heartedness and he watched Stan through half-lidded eyes.

It felt odd to Stan to be tossed around the way Rick did with him but he liked it. One hand slid down Rick's shoulder and squeezed the bicep it landed on. His other hand let go of Rick and he stroked his cock as he moaned. "God, I need you."

Rick worked his fingers a bit longer, knowing Stan had to be ready for him but desire screaming for him to get on with it. After what felt like an eternity, Rick couldn't wait any longer. He took himself in hand and pushed his member into Stan's waiting hole. He gave out a long low moan and pitched over Stan. The way the other man felt never got old. Rick hid his face in the crook of Stan's neck, one arm hooking under Stan's shoulder for leverage and the other gripping Stan's hip. Bracing his outside foot on the porch (and scattering beer bottles) Rick started to thrust, pulling Stan back onto his cock.

"Stan...Oh God, Stan..." Rick sobbed hoarsely.

"Yes! Ah! God, Rick!" Stan moaned as he stroked himself in time to Rick's thrusts. He let go of Rick's bicep and slid his hand into Rick's hair. Stan leaned his head back. The sound of the rain on the roof was soothing but the way Rick touched him was driving him wild. He tried to push back against Rick's thrust on the small couch.

"More..." he moaned as he nuzzled the side of Rick's face. Rick smothered Stan's cries in another kiss, needy and longing. Out in the inky blackness, the rain was indistinguishable but it could be heard and felt when the breeze changed direction, hitting them both with a faint cooling mist. Rick's body shivered and broke out in gooseflesh that made the pleasure of his moves twofold. Rick kept his rhythm steady and measured, hoping to make the encounter last as long as possible. They had all night after all. 

Rick mewled into Stan's mouth. He wanted to say it; to say the words he guarded so closely to Stan but knew if he did, he wouldn't leave in the morning. Neither of them would allow it and their relationship would be resigned to a slow and ultimately painful demise.

Stan let go of his cock and wrapped his arm around Rick's waist to keep them as close as possible. His other hand was still in Rick's hair and he kissed his lover as though his life depended on it. Rick's erection slid across his prostate and Stan couldn't help but tear his mouth away as he threw his head back and moaned loudly. The sounds were lost to the rain and the woods beyond.

Rick put both hands on the sofa's armrest above Stan's head and move with more leverage. He hovered above Stan's face, panting with effort and desire. He felt Stan's legs lock around his waist in an attempt to keep them that much closer.

"Stan...Stan....ah, yes, that's... That's it..." He breathed, his voice a tense moan of encouragement and worship. He rolled his hips, fluidly, focusing on the new spot he had discovered, wanting to slowly build the pleasure from smooth, constant overstimulation rather than wrench an orgasm from Stan through hard pounding. The way Rick kept saying his name was driving Stan crazy. He wasn't calling him Stanford and it made all the difference. Rick wanted him, not someone like him. He smiled up at Rick through the lust.

"How do you always do this to me?" He chuckled. It dissolved into a moan a moment later as Stan's eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered from the pleasure.

"I could...say the same to you.." Rick whispered and his face broke out into a toothy grin. Rick sat up to change the angle. He ran the flats of his hands up Stan's stomach and chest and back down again, one hand detouring to stop over Stan's pectoral and brush his finger over Stan's hardened nipple. His other hand continued the return trip down Stan's hip and thigh, petting it delicately.

As Rick pulled out of Stan's grasp he moved his hands to grip Rick's hips. He tried to pull him closer. "I hope- ah! I always make- mmm... you feel like that." He arched under Rick's hands, his cock twitching as the tall man teased his nipples. "Oooh. I ain't getting any prettier." Stan laughed softly as he rolled his hips into Rick's thrusts.

"Shut up. Your face gets better by the second, all hot and bothered like that..." Rick told Stan, not unkindly. Rick bent over Stan a moment to whisper in his ear. "You're gorgeous, Stan..." 

Rick pressed a kiss to Stan's temple before rearing back up and taking Stan by the hips. He thrust with purpose but never hard. His moves were careful but confident. Rick was displaying his pleasure to Stan even as he was giving it in the way he bit his lip and let his head fall back. He wanted it to be not just sexual but sensual. Rick wanted to show the words he would never say to Stan because while Rick had a feeling that the wouldn't be the last time they had sex, it just might be the last time they made love.

"Fucking sweet talker." Stan groaned. He tilted his head back and moaned long and low. He wasn't going to last much longer but he wasn't ready to topple over the edge. Not without his lover. One hand gripped the back of the couch while the other hand dug his fingers deep into the flesh of Rick's hip. "You're making it hard to hold out babe." Stan ground out between gritted teeth.

"Fucking truth talker," Rick corrected breathlessly. He brushed his hand over Stan's cheek and rested it there. He gazed down at Stan, a mix of hunger and tenderness painting his expression. He panted and fought to keep his hips from jerking out of rhythm. Stan's tight grip felt reassuring and incredible. 

"I wish you could see what a knock out you are..." He panted. He moaned as he felt Stan clenching around him. "I want you to feel good. Do I make you feel good, Stan?"

It wasn't a smug attempt to be flattered but more sincere than even Rick had expected from himself. 

"Ah! You always make me feel good, Rick." Stan was panting and almost unable to focus on anything but the amazing pleasure Rick was giving him. "You make me feel strong and sexy. I wanna make you feel good too, Lover Boy." 

Stan used his grip on the back of the couch to pull himself up so he was sitting in Rick's lap. He wrapped his arms around Rick's shoulders and moaned into his lover's mouth as he kissed him. Rick's cock pushing deeper inside him at this angle.

Rick bounced Stan hard on his cock. His weight was not inconsiderable but Rick was nothing if not persistent. He felt too good, in his heart and everywhere else, to stop giving Stan his all. Rick's long arms encircled Stan. One hand pressed into the small of Stan's back and the heat radiated off his skin into Rick's palm. Their bodies undulated against each other, beaded with sweat. The coarse hair of Stan's chest chafed Rick's nipples and the stimulation was exquisite. Rick broke the kiss and pressed his cheek to Stan's, groaning affirmatives in his ear. He plunged his fingers into Stan's hair and held there as if afraid Stan would pull away and end this ecstasy if not restrained. His muscles burned with the effort but Rick felt like he couldn't stop now. He thrust up into Stan, losing himself in bliss.

Stan rode Rick hard and fast. He needed his release and he knew he wasn't going to last long. He clung to Rick as tightly as he could, his erection trapped between the two of them

"Oh fuck! Oh God! Rick! Rick!" He moaned over and over into Rick's ear. Stan felt his cock throb and his control slipped away. "Aah! Baby! I'm gonna cum!"

"That's it..!" Rick grunted softly and intensely. He kissed Stan hard, his hand on the crown of Stan's skull holding him there. He broke away but held his sweating forehead against Stan's own. He gasped and shook, a breath away from Stan's lips "Give it to me! Fuck..."

Rick focused on nothing else but Stan. He could feel him tensing all over and all Rick wanted was to see and feel Stan fall over the edge and go with him. Stan growled as he pushed all the way down and ground his hips down on Rick's cock. He pressed his forehead against Rick's and let out a wailing moan that was almost louder than the storm. His body shook as he came between their bodies. Stan was shaking in exquisite ecstasy. Their bodies pressed tightly together as he felt those last hard throes from the member deep inside him.

Rick gritted his teeth and a guttural moan when he felt Stan come. He thrust a moment or two longer, but they were hard short pushes as feeling Stan clench all around his cock was just too good and Rick just shook holding Stan in a white-knuckled death grip, his own body tensing in glorious anticipation before at last, Rick's orgasm crested and he came, his muscles slackening all at once and a cry  somewhere between a whoop and a sigh escaped his lips. He collapsed with his shoulder and head on the back of the headrest of the sofa, letting go of Stan's weight just enough to pull out of him and let his bare buttocks find the couch cushions again, but never untangling from his embrace fully. Stan held on tight to Rick's forearms to keep from falling off the couch as he panted and tried to pull himself together. 

His eyes traveled over Rick's spent form. Sweat slicked hair clinging to his forehead; eyes closed as he too collected himself. The evidence of Stan's pleasure glistening against his belly. To Stan, Rick looked like some finally sated sex god. Beautiful and impossible. 

Stan maneuvered himself to sit beside Rick and Rick struggled amidst their mess of legs and fell down next to him. One of Stan's hands rested on his lover's thigh as Stan rested his head on Rick's shoulder. Rick tilted his head into rest it on top of Stan's own in response. Rick's chest rose and fell hard as he tried to catch his breath. He put his hand over Stan's, taking it into a half hold. They sat a moment just taking in the incredible afterglow and enjoying the closeness. Thunder rumbled out in the distance.

"We should take a shower. We should have a nightcap. We should stay up til dawn." Rick puffed in a stream of thought that Stan thought might have been more frantic if only Rick had the energy. Stan huffed a laugh.

"We can do all that." He turned his hand to grip Rick's. He shifted his eyes to look at Rick. The rain had let up and it was little more than a light summer rain. Stan smiled and pulled away a bit. He stood still holding Rick's hand. His legs a bit shaky. "Come on. And before you say it I know it's fucking cliche but just turn off for a second and come on."

Rick brushed dampened locks of hair away from his face and let himself be pulled to his feet. He gripped Stan's hand tightly and swayed as a result of his orgasm weakened muscles and the fact that he was still pretty drunk. Rick wound his arm around Stan's waist as they went and their hips bumped together comfortingly with each step.

"Can't have a hangover if you don't go to sleep." He slurred. He looked around realizing they weren't heading inside. "Where are we going?"

Stan pulled gently as he went down the porch stairs. "You said you wanted a shower." Stan gave a cheeky smile as he stepped into the rain, letting Rick's hand slip out of his. The rain was cold, especially after such hot activities. The sound that came out of Stan was far from masculine but he cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly at Rick. "It's brisk."

"Cold, cold, cold, shit, cold..." Rick chanted down each porch step and a few more our into the yard. The wet grass was slicked and slightly pricky on his bare feet, parched from the weeks of summer sun and gave way to patches of soft giving earth as Rick passed Stan and turned to face him, still stumbling backward, arms outstretched. Rick laughed despite himself and shook his hair out of his eyes.

"Well, I'm awake now!" He told Stan, his body only starting to welcome the refreshing coolness on his overheated skin. He turned a full circle again, the angles of his body flashing and disappearing in his spot halfway between the light of the Mystery Shack and the darkness of the woods. Stan watched his bare skin flash as he moved. Rick had no problem with nudity. It was a societal hang-up that he had no time for. Assigning shame to the skin everyone was born in was best left to the prudes and overly pious. Rick was surprised that even here and now he had Stan out in the open like this. It emboldened him.

"What do you think, Mr. Brisk? You just gonna stand there and shiver?" He called. Stan laughed.

"This was my idea, Lover Boy." He said. He playfully swatted Rick's backside then darted away backward. He put his fists up in a boxer stance. His feet nimble on the wet ground and a playful gleam in his eyes. "Come and get me, babe."

Rick jumped back when Stan's hand came down on his wet skin. He fixed Stan with a look that was equal parts startled and devilish challenge. 

"Oh okay, so that's how it's going to be?" He said, strutting confidently a bit before playfully lunging at Stan to get his hands on him. Stan may have been out of practice but his muscle memory was kicking in. He danced away from Rick's grasp though just barely.

"Gotta move faster than that, old man." He laughed, still bobbing and weaving. Rick gave a throaty laugh and wiped the rain from his eyes.

"Alright, okay. C'mere, drunken master." He teased. Rick chased Stan, fumbling to grapple the man as each pass was evaded by Stan's quick if somewhat sloppy footwork. Rick wanted to say that if they were both sober this would be easier but between Stan's upbringing in boxing and Rick's lack of any training to speak of, it would most likely end up the same. He slid on the wet grass and nearly fell but he caught himself with one hand and pushed himself up, laughing and swearing. Rick got his hands around Stan's bicep at one point, but it slipped free before Rick could get Stan in his grasp.

Stan let Rick chase him. He almost forgot about Rick's much longer reach a few times but once he added that into his tactic he was uncatchable. Stan had been known in the ring for his left hook that could KO even the biggest guy but it was his fast footwork he had always been proud of and more than once he had exhausted a stronger opponent by running them in circles. 

It was all very ironic really. His mom had put him into dance classes while enrolling Ford in music lessons. She had obviously thought she could turn the twins into some kind of vaudeville style act she could sell. When pop found out, he had yanked Stan out of class and told the teacher, as she protested and told the man of his son's natural talent, that "Filbrick pines wasn't going to have a tap dancing faggot for a son". The next day his father had signed him up for boxing but Stan secretly never stopped going to dance classes and his footwork was the best in his age range for it. 

This memory made Stan laugh now as he playful evaded the man he loved. He was more than happy being a faggot as long as he was with someone he loved. 

Stan ducked out of Rick's reach once more and saw Rick begin to stumble on the slick grass. He scooped his lover up from behind and held him around the waist to keep him from the muddy ground.

"I caught you." He chuckled as he nuzzled the space between Rick's pronounced shoulder blades. Rick sagged comfortably in Stan's grasp. He let the rain pour down on his head and into his eyes. The rivulets cascaded down his body and he just let Stan hold him a while.

"You did, didn't you..." He said just loud enough to contend with the hiss of the rain. Stan perched his chin on Rick's shoulder. He murmured those important, terrifying, and wonderful words into Rick's ear. There was no way Stan expected them to be said back to him. If Rick did, Stan would chalk it up to pity and obligation, not true feelings or because he actually wanted to. Rick just leaned against him more as the rain washed it all away. 

Eventually, the rain became too cold and what was left unsaid became too heavy. The two men went back inside and toweled each other off, after grabbing a few of the remaining beers, of course. They slipped on pants (Rick's pants had been soaked where they had fallen and he grumbled about it as he ran up to their room to get a dry pair) and Rick made the suggestion of going up on the roof. The rain had stopped and the clouds were clearing up. They would have just enough time to see the stars be for the sunrise wiped them from the sky for another day. 

Stan had frozen at the thought and begrudgingly told Rick that he was scared of heights but Rick took his hand in a very soft gesture and led him to the ladder he'd found while snooping around one day. He stopped and looked at Stan. Rick told the shorter man he wouldn't make him go but he wanted to see the stars in this dimension. He climbed the ladder and immerged out onto the roof. He settled himself on the ledge and a moment later a very nervous looking Stan joined him. He gripped Stan's hand in his and started pointing out the different constellations in the sky that was very much like his own. Slowly Stan stopped shaking and started pointing out the ones he knew. 

They stayed there until the sun came up, talking about constellations and counting stars and Rick told Stan about all the world's out there. 

Once the sky was bright with a new day the two men collapsed into bed together. They kissed and touched but it never moved past that. They fell asleep in each other's arms. When they woke it was well past noon. They dressed and Rick packed up his guitar in its case and the clothes Stan had gotten him in an old hiking backpack he found. Not much was said but there were touches and gently hand holding through the whole operation. Stan, dressed in his slacks and Hawaiian shirt, grabbed the keys to the Diablo and followed Rick outside. He grumbled softly that Rick better not scuff the upholstery as Rick slid the guitar case into the back seat. 

They drove the ten minutes to the cliff overlooking the town. Stan put the car into park and turned it off. He looked out the windshield for a moment before he turned to Rick.

"It's gonna be boring without you."

Rick tensely nodded not as if he agreed with Stan's statement but more as if he were only signaling he had heard him speak. Rick shrugged and a laid-back grin colored his expression.

"I'll be back." He said mildly "like Santa. Or the clap. Come on."

Rick clapped a friendly hand on Stan's thigh then pulled himself from the car. The midday July sun made the air dry but at their elevation, there was a breeze that tousled Rick's hair and the folds of his patch covered denim jacket. He pulled on his backpack and retrieved the guitar from the back seat. He looked out over the valley taking in the landscape as Stan joined him.

"S'nice spot." He observed. Stan shoved his hands in his pockets. He wanted to hold Rick's hand but the public displays of affection were still a bit much for him. 

"Wanted you to remember how nice this weird little place could be. Couldn't see the stars the way we did last night in New Jersey." Stan shrugged one shoulder. "Wanted to remind you that you don't have to wait ten years before you come back." He didn't look at Rick. Just let his eyes wander over the town like cartographer hard at work.

"Oh yeah? You sure it's not like driving a dog far away so it doesn't find its way back when you leave." Rick's humor was as dry as ever and he turned his head to observe Stan slyly. "Nice try. You can't get rid of me that easy."

Stan looked up at Rick a bit skeptically but he had a half smile on his face.

"Like I could ever get rid of you." He looked down at the guitar case in Rick's hand. "You really are claiming that, huh?"

Rick shrugged and turned to Stan with a look on his face like the cat who ate the canary.

"I said it was mine, didn't I?" He said. He made a face and scratched his head before adding. "Well, that's not entirely true. It's your brother's, but I'm borrowing it for now. I do that with a lot of his stuff..."

Rick laughed shallowly but sensed that joke had not landed. Stan looked at the guitar like it was a ghost. 

"But he didn't...he played piano. When did he..." Stan reached out and lightly touched the guitar case. "I guess I didn't know him like I thought." He pulled his hand away. "Take it. It's yours. He shouldn't have left it laying around if he didn't want someone to come snatch it up."

Rick could feel the subtext of that phrase but didn't mention it. He sighed a short puff of air through his nose as he considered what to do next.

"Well, I should get going. I guess." Rick said lamely. He tried to hide his apprehension under ego "I won't ask you to come with me now, but no promises next time I drop by."

"You'd still want me to come along? Even after all the times I was too dumb to listen?" Stan chuckled a bit and stepped a bit closer to Rick.

"Dumb? No. Stubborn as a mule? That's a little more accurate. But don't worry. I'll wear you down eventually." Rick chided. He struck Stan's shoulder with a soft fist but felt exposed once he had done it. The touch felt too much like it was trying to be casual and that was not Rick. Everything was coming off wrong and it left Rick wanting to have a do over at this goodbye. He was self-conscious in a way that was unlike him. It stood to reason, Rick supposed, that when you never let things end on good terms, you didn't get much chance to practice your goodbyes. Rick tried his best to not let it show. He thrust out his hand to Stan, offering a handshake. He smiled as kindly as he could.

"Good luck. Go get your brother back."

Stan pushed the hand away and slid his arms around Rick's waist. He pressed his cheek against Rick's chest as he hugged his lover. His heart hammered in his chest as he listened to Rick's heart.

"Don't make me wait ten years again. Promise."

Rick dropped his guitar case when Stan pulled him in. It hit the grass with a thump and soft jangle. Rick gathered Stan into his arms and squeezed him tightly like a silent reminder that Stan was real and solid. He rested his head on the top of Stan's own.

"I don't know if I'm ever going to change for you. I don't know if I can and if I can, I don't know if I love anyone enough to do it. Not even me. I'm not a very trustworthy guy. I don't know if my promise would be worth much..." Rick said solemnly. He hid a self deprecating smile in Stan's rain washed hair. "Guess there's a lot I don't know..."

He held Stan and tried to memorize the feel of Stan's body gently expanding with his breath.

"For the last time, I don't want you to change. I want you. All of you. And I wanna give you all of me but neither of us are whole yet and we'll only be less than the other deserves right now." Stan squeezed Rick tighter.

"God, listen to you. And you say you're dumb..." Rick said not unkindly. He pulled away enough to look at Stan. "I promise. I'll be back to bother you before you know it. You'll be begging to get rid of me."

"Yeah. That's never gonna happen." Stan pushed up onto the balls of his feet and kissed Rick. It was chaste and sweet but there was want there also. One hand slid up Rick's torso and tangled in Rick's shirt near the collar. He wasn't letting Rick go until he'd had his full.

Rick drank in the kiss and his heart swelled. The two of them both had a lot of things they had to get over, this was true. But there was a trust in this kiss that Rick hadn't given anyone in a very long time and he was unsure if he could ever give it freely again. Rick lived indulgently, obliging his selfish ways frequently. He'd rather have all than just some but if it made Stan happy to meet him in this halfway place, this arrangement where they were both safe enough, Rick believed could indulge someone else for once. Stan's happiness was worth it to him.

Stan pulled back slowly. He looked serious for a minute before smiling.

"Ok. Alright. Go save the universe. Or don't. Plan where you are gonna take me when I finally give in. Find your family." He placed one more soft kiss on Rick's lips. "I'll see you soon." He let go of the other man and took a step back.

Rick had so much he wanted to say. He wanted to explain he wasn't ready to go back to his daughter and even if he was she was only sixteen and still in the care of her mother and there would be no way she'd let him see Beth. He wanted to assure Stan that if The Brother broke his heart after all of this that Rick would kill him and not in the abstract, hyperbolic way. He wanted to say he loved Stan. He wanted to say nothing and just kiss Stan again. But faced with that sure, strong look of determination, Rick knew there was nothing he could say that would make this moment better.

Rick resolved that living in the moment here in this sleepy weird little town was what Stan needed and more than anything Rick yearned to give Stan that. It wasn't what he wanted, not at this moment, but Rick could deny Stan with his big heart and his level head, nothing. You couldn't always get what you want...

It was amazing how much his time in Gravity Falls had tamed Stan. And it had, in truth, begun to tame Rick but the itch for the big wide universe was still inside him and for the first time in weeks, called to Rick, beckoning him back into its vast danger and wonder. A prickling of excitement ran through Rick's brain and it was a welcome return to form.

Rick retrieved the portal gun from his coat and picked the guitar case back up. He looked up into the bright blue sky and took in a deep breath of the fragrant summer air. He looked back to Stan and gave him his best roguish grin.

"See ya soon." He agreed. He pressed the button on the portal gun, keeping it close to his body and not making a show if it. He tucked it back in his coat as the green portal undulated a few feet beside him. Rick turned and walked towards it. He looked over his shoulder and gave a little half wave with his free hand before stepping through and disappearing with a whoosh of air and the dry scent of ozone.

Stan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He thought it would hurt more. He thought he'd be a mess but the world wasn't that different. Rick would be back, he was sure of it. Maybe Ford would be back someday and they would settle into years of domestic bliss in their old age. Maybe Stan would be a seventy-year-old explorer traveling God knows where with Rick as his lover and companion. It was all too far in the future for Stan to be certain of anything. 

He looked down on the town and smiled a bit. For now, he had the shack and his friends at Greasy's diner and the trip to Piedmont to plan. For now, that was enough. It would not have been enough for Rick and Stan wouldn't have been enough for him either. Not yet at least and that was ok. 

Stan fished the keys to the Diablo out of his pocket. Best to rip the band-aid off and go into town alone now. He'd think of a story. He always did. Though perhaps he'd be a bit more honest with Melissa. 

He slid into the driver's seat and looked sadly at the empty seat beside him. He sighed.

"Never have I ever been so sure that the person I love will come back." He smiled as he started the car and headed to the sleepy town below.


End file.
